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READINGS 



IN 



AMERICAN LITERATURE 



CHOSEN AND EDITED BY 

ROY BENNETT PACE 

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH 
SWARTHMORE COLLEGE 



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ALLYN AND BACON 



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COPYRIGHT. 1915, BY 
ROY BENNETT PACE 



Nortoootj 5Preg8 

J. S. Gushing Oo, -^Berwick & Smith Co. 

Norwood, -Mass., U.S.A. 

FEB -6 1915 /^ ^<iLo 



'CIA;j9354J 



PREFACE 

This volume is designed to accompany the editor's Ameri- 
can Literature, and the selections were made to represent 
the authors there treated. While it is intended that the 
history and the Readings be used together, the latter have 
been compiled in accordance with suggestions from many 
sources ; and the editor believes that they will prove useful 
with any history of American literature. 

No effort has been made to include college entrance 
requirements, most of which are available in cheap and 
attractive editions. On the other hand, more space than is 
usual in a book of this kind is given to literature produced 
before 1800. This has been done because the material is 
quaint and interesting, and is less accessible to high school 
students than nineteenth century writings. The editor 
feels confident that results will repay a generous expenditure 
of time on the early writers. 

In preparing the Readings, the best texts accessible have 
been used ; but it has not seemed necessary in a high school 
book to indicate the editions, unless required by the copy- 
right provisions of the authorized publishers. 



ROY BENNETT PACE. 



SWARTHMORE COLLEGE, PENNSYLVANIA, 

January 1, 1915. 



m 



READINGS 



From John Smith to Benjamin Franklin 
Adventure with Opechancanough 
Account of a Tempest .... 
The Twenty-third Psalm 
The Judgment of Infants 

Contemplations 

Life at Merry Mount .... 
The " Little Speech " on Liberty 
Character of Governor Bradford . 
Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God 
(extracts) 



(1608-1758) : 

John Smith . 
William Strachey 
The Bay Psalm Book . 
3Iichael Wigglesworth 
Anne Bradstreet . 
William Bradford 
John Winthrop . 
Cotton Mather . 



Jonathan Edwards 



From Franklin to Irving (1758-1803) 

" Silence Dogood" on Drunkenness 
Growth of Ill-humor in America . 
Britain's Dealings with her Colonies Imitated 
The Whistle 



Benjamin Franklin 



Patrick Henry 
James Otis . 
TJiomas Paine 
George Washington 



Thomas Jefferson 
Alexander Hamilton 
John Woolman . 
Francis Hopkinson 



Liberty or Death 

On the Writs of Assistance (extract) . 
"Times that Try Men's Souls " . 
First Inaugural (extract) 
Summary View of the Rights of British 
America (extract) .... 
The Union as a Safeguard . 
An Anti-Slavery Mission 
The Battle of the Kegs . . . 

Paul Jones Anonymous . 

The Riflemen's Song at Bennington . Anonymous . 

Columbia Timothy Dwight 

McFingal's Sentence .... John Trumbull 

McFingal's Flight 

Washington to His Troops . . . Joel Barlow 
Song: " For Chloris " . . . . Thomas Godfrey 

To Celia 

The Prince of Parthia (Act V, scene I) 

V 



1 
4 
9 

9 
12 
15 
17 
19 

21 



24 

27 
31 
34 
36 
38 
40 
42 

44 
46 
49 

63 
56- 
57 
58 
59 
60 
61 
63 
63 
64 



VI 



READINGS 



A Mysterious Voice , . . Charles Brockden Brown . 66 

A Political Litany . . . Philip Freneau ... 68 

Eutaw Springs . 69 

The Wild Honey Suckle 70 

Death Song of a Cherokee Indian 71 

^ay to April 72 



From Irving to the Close of the War (1809-1865) : 

Character of Peter Stuyvesant . Washington Irving . . 72 

The Devil and Tom Walker 75 

Thanatopsis William Cullen Bryant . 90 

To a Waterfowl 92 

A Forest Hymn 93 

The Death of the Flowers , 97 

To the Fringed Gentian 98 

The Gladness of Nature 98 

Robert of Lincoln 99 

The Hurricane 101 

The Fight of the Ariel and the 

Alacrity .... James Fenimore Cooper . 103 
On the Death of Joseph Rodman 

Drake Fitz-Greene Halleck . . 112 

Marco Bozzaris . . • 112 

The American Flag . . . Joseph Hodman Drake . 116 
The Real Character of the Union John Caldwell Calhoun . 118 
The Language of Calhoun's Reso- 
lutions Daniel Webster . . . 120 

" Showing His Hand " . . Abraham Lincoln . . 125 
Speech on Leaving Springfield in 

1861 126 

Shortest Speech 127 

First Inaugural (extract) 127 

Gettysburg Address 127 

Letter to Mrs. Bixby 128 

A Cry to Arms .... Henry Timrod . . . 129 

Ode at Magnolia Cemetery 130 

Flower-life . 131 

Why Silent 132 



READINGS vii 

PAGE 

Beauregard's Appeal . . Paul Hamilton Hayne . . 133 

Forgotten 134 

The Axe and the Pine 136 

Aspects of the Pines 136 

Poets 137 

To Helen . . ... Edgar Allan Foe . . . 137 

Israfel 138 

The Haunted Palace 140 

The Raven 141 

Ulalume 145 

Annabel Lee 147 

Morella 149 

The Short-story 155 

The Maypole of Merry Mount Nathaniel Hawthorne . . . 159 

Drowne's Wooden Image 172 

Tour of William the Silent . John Lothrop Motley . . . 187 

The Rhodora . . . Ralph Waldo Emerson . . 191 

The Apology 192 

Concord Hymn 192 

The Humble-Bee 193 

Terminus 195 

The Nature of Government 

(from Politics) 196 

The Coming of the Birds 

(from Spring) . . Henry David Thoreau . . 200 

Maimed Nature (from >S|pn?igr) 202 

From the Close of the War to the Deaths of Whitman and 
Whittier (1865-1892) : 

The Beleaguered City . . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 204 

The Building of the Ship ........ 205 

Hiawatha's Wooing . 216 

The Birds of Killingworth 224 

The Hanging of the Crane 231 

The Cross of Snow . . . 237 

My Love .... James Bussell Lowell . . . 238 

Stanzas on Freedom 239 

Commemoration Ode (extracts) . 240 

Under the Old Elm (extracts) 248 



viii READINGS 



PAGE 



Emerson and His Audience (from 

Emerson the Lecturer) . 262 

White's "Selborne" (from My 

Garden Acquaintance) 258 

The True Nature of Democracy 

(from Democracy) ..*.... 263 

My Springs Sid)iey Lanier . . .269 

Song of the Chattahoochee 271 

The New South .... Henry Woodfin Grady . 272 

Advantages of Not Traveling 

(from Prue and I) . . George William Curtis . 282 

Evils of Party Spirit (from The 

Public Duty of Educated Men) 286 

To William Lloyd Garrison . . John Greenleaf Whittier . 291 

Proem 292 

Ichabod 293 

Skipper Ireson's Ride " . . . 295 

My Playmate 298 

Laus Deo 300 

In School-Days 302 

The Lost Occasion 303 

A Child's Question . . . Walt Whitman . . .306 

Mannahatta 307 

O Captain ! my Captain ! 308 

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard 

Bloomed (extracts) . , . . . . . . 309 

Come, said my Soul 315 

The Height of the Ridiculous . Oliver Wendell Holmes . 315 

The Last Leaf 316 

The Chambered Nautilus ' . . . 318 

The Deacon's Masterpiece 319 

Parson Turell's Legacy . . • 322 

All Here 327 

The Broomstick Train . 329 

The Episode of the Pie (from The 

Autoci-at) 333 

My Last Walk with the School- 
mistress (from The Autocrat) 335 

Notes 339 



READINGS 

IN 

AMERICAN LITERATURE 



READINGS IN AMERICAN 
LITERATURE 

JOHN SMITH 
Adventure with Opechancanough 

{From A True Relation) 

Having 2 Indians for my guide and 2 of our own com- 
pany, I set forward, leaving 7 in the barge : Having dis- 
covered 20 miles further in this desart, the river stil kept 
his depth and bredth, but much more combred with trees : 
Here we went ashore (being some 12 miles higher then the 5 
barge had bene) to refresh our selves, during the boyling 
of our vituals : One of the Indians I tooke with me, to see 
the nature of the soile, and to crosse the boughts of the 
river : the other Indian I left with Maister Eobbinson and 
Thomas Emry, with their matches light, and order to dis- 10 
charge a peece, for my retreat, at the first sight of any 
Indian. But within a quarter of an houre I heard a loud 
cry, and a hollowing of Indians, but no warning peece. 
Supposing them surprised, and that the Indians had betraid 
us, presently I seazed him and bound his arme fast to my 15 
hand in a garter, with my pistoll ready bent to be revenged 
on him : he advised me to fly, and seemed ignorant of what 
was done. But as we went discoursing, I was struck with 
an arrow on the right thigh, but without harme : upon this 
occasion I espied 2 Indians drawing their bowes, which I 20 
prevented in discharging a french pistoll : By that I had 
charged againe, 3 or 4 more did the like : for the first fell 
downe and fled : At my discharge, they did the like. My 



2 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

hinde I made my barricade, who offered not to strive. 20. 

25 or 30. arrowes were shot at me but short. 3 or 4 times I had 
discharged my pistoll ere the king of Pamaunck called 
Opeckankenough with 200 men, invironed me, cache drawing 
their bowe : which done they laid them upon the ground, 
yet without shot : My hinde treated betwixt them and me 

30 of conditions of peace ; he discovered me to be the Captaine : 
my request was to retire to the boate : they demanded my 
armes, the rest they saide were slaine, onely me they would 
reserve: The Indian importuned me not to shoot. In re- 
tiring being in the midst of a low quagmire, and minding 

35 them more then my steps, I stept fast into the quagmire, 
and also the Indian in drawing me forth : 

Thus surprised, I resolved to trie their mercies : my 
armes I caste from me, till which none durst approch me. 
Being ceazed on me, they drew me out and led me to the 

40 King. I presented him with a compasse diall, describing 
by my best meanes the use therof : whereat he so amazedly 
admired, as he suffered me to proceed in a discourse of the 
roundnes of the earth, the course of the sunne, moone, 
starres and plannets. With kinde speeches and bread he 

45 requited me, conducting me where the Canow lay and John 
Robbinson slaine, with 20 or 30. arrowes in him. Emry I 
saw not. 

I perceived by the aboundance of fires all over the woods. 
At each place I expected when they would execute me, yet 

50 they used me with what kindnes they could : Approaching 
their Towne, which was within 6 miles where I was taken, 
onely made as arbors and covered with mats, which they 
remove as occasion requires : all the women and children, 
being advertised of this accident, came foorth to meet them, 

55 the King well guarded with 20 bowmen 5 flanck and rear, 
and each flanck before him a sword and a peece, and after 
him the like, then a bowman, then I on each hand a bowe- 



JOHN SMITH 3 

man, the rest in file in the reare, which reare led foorth 
amongst the trees in a bishion, eache his bowe and a hand- 
full of arrowes, a quiver at his back grimly painted : on 60 
eache flanck a sargeant, the one running alwaies towards 
the front, the other towards the reare, each a true pace and 
in exceeding good order. This being a good time continued, 
they caste themselves in a ring with a daunce, and so eache 
man departed to his lodging. The Captain conducting me 65 
to his lodging, a quarter of Venison and some ten pound of 
bread I had for supper: what I left was reserved for me, 
and sent with me to my lodging : Each morning 3. women 
presented me three great platters of fine bread, more venison 
then ten men could devour I had : my gowne, points and 70 
garters, my compas and my tablet they gave me again. 
Though 8 ordinarily guarded me, I wanted not what they 
could devise to content me : and still our longer acquaint- 
ance increased our better affection : 

Much they threatned to assault our forte, as they were 75 
solicited by the King of Paspahegh: who shewed at our 
fort great signes of sorrow for this mischance. The King 
tooke great delight in understanding the manner of our 
ships, and sayling the seas, the earth and skies, and of our 
God : what he knew of the dominions he spared not to ac- 80 
quaint me with, as of certaine men cloathed at a place 
called Ocanahonan, cloathed like me : the course of our 
river, and that within 4 or. 5 dales journey of the falles, 
was a great turning of salt water : I desired he would send 
a messenger to Paspahegh, with a letter I would write, by 85 
which they shold understand how kindly they used me, and 
that I was well, least they should revenge my death. This 
he granted and sent three men, in such weather as in reason 
were unpossible by any naked to be indured. Their cruell 
mindes towards the fort I had deverted, in describing the 90 
ordinance and the mines in the fields, as also the revenge 



4 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Captain Newport would take of them at his returne. Their 
intent, I incerted the fort, the people of Ocanahonum and 
the back sea : this report they after found divers Indians 

95 that confirmed : 

The next day after my letter, came a salvage to my lodg- 
ing, with his sword, to have slaine me : but being by my 
guard intercepted, with a bowe and arrow he offred to have 
effected his purpose : the cause I knew not, till the .King 

100 understanding thereof came and told me of a man a dying, 
wounded with my pistoll : he tould me also of another I 
had slayne, yet the most concealed they had any hurte : 
This was the father of him I had slayne, whose fury to pre- 
vent, the King presently conducted me to another King- 

105 dome, upon the top of the next northerly river, called 
Youghtanan. Having feasted me, he further led me to 
another branch of the river, called Mattapament; to two 
other hunting townes they led me : and to each of these 
Countries, a house of the great Emperour of Pewhakan, 

110 whom as yet I sui)posed to bee at the Fals ; to him I tolde 
him I must goe, and so returne to Paspahegh. After this 
foure or five dayes marsh, we returned to Rasawrack, the 
first towne they brought me too : where binding the Mats 
in bundels, they marched two dayes journey, and crossed 

115 the River of Youghtanan, where it was as broad as Thames : 
so conducting me to a place called Menapacute in Pamaunke, 
where the King inhabited. 

WILLIAM STRACHEY 
Account of a Tempest 
{From A True Repertory) 

When on S. James his day, July 24. being Monday (pre- 
paring for no lesse all the blacke night before) the cloudes 
gathering thicke upon us, and the windes singing, and 



WILLIAM STRACHEY 5 

whistling most unusually, which made us to cast off our 
Pinnace, towing the same untill then asterne, a dreadfull5 
storme and hideous began to blow from out the North-east, 
which swelling, and roaring as it were by fits, some houres 
with more violence then others, at length did beate all light 
from heaven ; which like an hell of darknesse turned blacke 
upon us, so much the more fidler of horror, as in such cases 10 
horror and feare use to overrunne the troubled, and over- 
mastered sences of all, which (taken up with amazement) 
the eares lay so sensible to the terrible cries, and murmurs 
of the windes, and distraction of our Company, as who was 
most armed, and best prepared, was not a little shaken. 15 

For foure and twenty houres the storme in a restlesse 
tumult, had blowne so exceedingly, as we could not appre- 
hend in our imaginations any possibility of greater violence, 
yet did wee still finde it, not onely more terrible, but more 
constant, fury added to fury, and one storme urging a second 20 
more outragious then the former; whether it so wrought 
upon our feares, or indeede met with new forces : Some- 
times strikes in our Ship amongst women, and passengers, 
not used to such hurly and discomforts, made us looke one 
upon the other with troubled hearts, and panting bosomes : 25 
our clamours dround in the windes, and the windes in thun- 
^QY # * ^ Q^^j. sailes wound up lay without their use, 
and if at any time wee bore but a Hollocke, or halfe fore- 
course, to guide her before the Sea, six and sometimes eight 
men were not inough to hold the whipstaffe in the steerage, 30 
and the tiller below in the Gunner roome, by which may be 
imagined the strength of the storme : In which, the Sea 
swelled above the Clouds, and gave battell unto Heaven. It 
could not be said to raine, the waters like whole Rivers did 
flood in the ayre. And this I did still observe, that wheras 35 
upon the Land, when a storme hath powred it selfe forth 



6 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

once in drifts of raine, the winde as beaten downe, and van- 
quished therewith, not long after indureth : here the glut of 
water (as if throatling the winde ere while) was no sooner a 
40 little emptied and qualitied, but instantly the windes (as 
having gotten their mouthes now free, and at liberty) spake 
more loud, and grew more tumultuous, and malignant. 

^ TV TV "Jv Tir "if 

Howbeit this was not all; It pleased God to bring a 
greater aflliction yet upon us ; for in the beginning of the 

45 storme we had received likewise a mighty leake. And the 
Ship in every joynt almost, having spued out her Oakam, 
before we were aware (a casualty more desperate then any 
other that a Voyage by Sea draweth with it) was growne five 
foote suddenly deepe with water above her ballast, and we 

50 almost drowned within, whilst we sat looking when to perish 
from above. This imparting no lesse terrour then danger, 
ranne through the whole Ship with much fright and amaze- 
ment, startled and turned the bloud, and tooke downe the 
braves of the most hardy Marriner of them all, insomuch as 

55 he that before happily felt not the sorrow of others, now 
began to sorrow for himselfe, when he saw such a pond of 
water so suddenly broken in, and which he knew could not 
(without present avoiding) but instantly sinke him. So as 
joyning (onely for his owne sake, not yet worth the saving) 

60 in the publique safety ; there might be scene Master, Mas- 
ters Mate, Boateswaine, Quarter Master, Coopers, Carpenters, 
and who not, with candels in their hands, creeping along the 
ribs viewing the sides, searching every corner, and listening 
in every place, if they could heare the water runne. Many 

65 a weeping leake was this way found, and hastily stopt, and at 
length one in the Gunner roome made up with I know not 
how many peeces of Beefe: but all was to no purpose, the 
Leake (if it were but one) which drunke in our greatest Seas, 
and tooke in our destruction fastest, could not then be found. 



WILLIAM STRACHEY 7 

nor ever was, by any labour, counsell, or search. The waters 70 
still increasing, and the Punipes going, which at length 
choaked with bringing up whole and continuall Bisket (and 
indeede all w^ had, tenne thousand weight) it was conceived, 
as most likely, that the Leake might be sprung in the Bread- 
roome, whereupon the Carpenter went downe, and ript up all 75 
the roome, but could not finde it so. 

* * # =H^ # # 

Our Governour, upon the tuesday morning (at what time, by 
such who had bin below in the hold, the Leake was first dis- 
covered) had caused the whole Company, about one hundred 
and forty, besides women, to be equally divided into three 80 
parts, and opening the Ship in three places (under the fore- 
castle, in the waste, and hard by the Bitacke) appointed 
each man where to attend; and thereunto every man came 
duely upon his watch, tooke the Bucket, or Pumpe for one 
houre, and rested another. Then men might be scene to 85 
labour, 1 may well say, for life, and the better sort, even 
our Governour, and Admirall themselves, not refusing their 
turne, and to spell each the other, to give example to other. 
The common sort stripped naked, as men in Gallies, the 
easier both to hold out, and to shrinke from under the salt 90 
water, which continually leapt in among them, kept their 
eyes waking, and their thoughts and hands working, with 
t^^red bodies, and wasted spii-its, three dayes and foure 
nights destitute of outward comfort, and desperate of any 
deliverance, testifying how mutually willing they were, yet 95 
by labour to keepe each other from drowning, albeit each 
one drowned whilest he laboured. 

Once, so huge a Sea brake upon the poope and quarter 
upon us, as it covered our Shippe from stearne to stemme, 
like a garment or a vast cloude, it filled her brimme full 100 
for a while within, from the hatches up to the sparre decke. 
This source or confluence of water was so violent, as it rusht 



8 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

and carried the Helm-man from the Helme, and wrested the 
Whip-staffe out of his hand, which so flew from side to side, 

105 that when he woukl have ceased the same againe, it so 
tossed him from Star-boord to Lar-boord, as.it was Gods 
mercy it had not split him : It so beat him from his hold, 
and so bruised him, as a fresh man hazarding in by chance 
fell faire with it, and by maine strength bearing somewhat 

110 up, made good his place, and with much clamour incouraged 
and called upon others ; who gave her now up, rent in pieces 
and absolutely lost. Our Governour was at this time below 
at the Capstone, both by his speech and authoritie hearten- 
ing every man unto his labour. It strooke him from the 

115 place where hee sate, and groveled him, and all us about 
him on our faces, beating together with our breaths all 
thoughts from our bosomes, else, then that wee were now 
sinking. * * * It so stun'd the ship in her full pace, 
that shee stirred no more, then if shee had beene caught in 

120 a net, or then, as if the fabulous Remora had stucke to her 
fore-castle. Yet without bearing one inch of saile, even 
then shee was making her way nine or ten leagues in a 
watch. One thing, it is not without his wonder (whether 
it were the feare of death in so great a storme, or that it 

125 pleased God to be gracious unto us) there was not a passen- 
ger, gentleman, or other, after hee beganne to stirre and 
labour, but was able to relieve his fellow, and make good 
his course : And it is most true, such as in all their life 
times had never done houres worke before (their mindes now 

130 helping their bodies) were able twice fortie eight houres to- 
gether to toile with the best. 



MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH 9 

BAY PSALM BOOK 

23 A Psalme of David 

The Lord to mee a shepheard is, 
want therefore shall not I. 
) Hee in the folds of tendev-grasse, 
doth cause mee downe to lie : 
To waters calme me gently leads 5 

3 Restore my soule doth hee : 
he doth in paths of righteousnes 

for his names sake leade mee. 

4 Yea though in valley of deaths shade 

I walk, none ill I'le feare : 10 

because thou art with mee, thy rod, 
and staff e my comfort are. 

5 For mee a table thou hast spread, 

in presence of my foes : 
thou dost annoynt my head with oyle, 16 

my cup it over-flowes. 

6 Goodnes & mercy surely shall 

all my dayes follow mee : 
and in the Lords house T shall dwell 

so long as dayes shall bee. 20 

MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH 
The Judgment of Infants 
{From The Day of Doom) 

CLXVI 

Then to the Bar all they drew near 

Who died in infancy, 
And never had or good or bad 

effected pers'nally; 
But from the womb unto the tomb 5 

were straightway carried, 
(Or at the least ere they transgress'd) 

Who thus began to plead : 



10 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

CLXVII 

"If for our own transgressi-oii, 
10 or disobedience, 

We here did stand at thy left hand, 

just were the Recompense; 
But Adam's guilt our souls hath spilt, 
his fault is charg'd upon us; 
16 And that alone hath overthrown 

and utterly undone us. 



''Not we, but he ate of the Tree, 
Whose fruit was interdicted; 

Yet on us all of' his sad Fall 
20 the punishment's inflicted. 

How could we sin that had not been, 
or how is his sin our, 

Without consent, which to prevent 
we never had the pow'r? 

CLXIX 

25 "O great Creator why was our Nature 

depraved and forlorn ? 
Why so defil'd, and made so vil'd, 

whilst we were yet unborn? 
If it be just, and needs we must 
30 transgressors reckon 'd be, 

Thy Mercy, Lord, to us afford, 
which sinners hath set free. 

CLXX 

" Behold we see Adam set free, 
and sav'd from his trespass, 
35 Whose sinful Fall hath split us all, 

and brought us to this pass. 



MICHAEL WIGGLESWORTH U 

Canst thou deny us once to try, 

or Grace to us to tender, 
When he finds grace before thy face, 

who was the chief offender?" 40 



Then answered the Judge most dread : 

" God doth such doom forbid, ^ 

That men should die eternally 

for what they never did. 
But what you call old Adam's Fall, 45 

and only his Trespass, 
You call amiss to call it his, 

both his and yours it was. 

CLXXII 

" He was design'd of all Mankind 

to be a public Head; 50 

A common Root, whence all should shoot, 

and stood in all their stead. 
He stood and fell, did ill or well, 

not for himself alone. 
But for you all, who now his Fall 55 

and trespass would disown. 



CLXXX 

" You sinners are, and such a share 

as sinners, may expect ; 
Such you shall have, for I do save 

none but mine own Elect. 60 

Yet to compare your sin with their 

who liv'd a longer time, 
I do confess yours is much less, 

though every sin's a crime. 



12 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

CLXXXI 

65 " A crime it is, therefore in bliss 

you may not hope to dwell; 
But unto you I shall allow 

the easiest room in Hell." 
The glorious King thus answering, 

they cease, and plead no longer; 
Their Consciences must needs confess 

his Reasons are the stronger. 



ANNE BRADSTREET 

The Glories of Nature 

(From Contemplations) 

Some time now past in the Autumnal Tide, 
When Phcehus wanted but one hour to bed, 
The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride, 
Where gilded o're by his rich golden head. 
Their leaves & fruits seem'd painted, but was true 
Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew, 
Rapt were my sences at this delectable view. 



I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I, 
If so much excellence abide below ; 
10 How excellent is he that dwells on high ? 

Whose power and beauty by his w^orks we know. 

Sure he is goodness, wisdome, glory, light. 

That hath this under world so richly dight : 

More Heaven then Earth was here no winter & no night. 

3 

15 Then on a stately Oak I cast mine Eye, 

Whose ruffling top the Clouds seem'd to aspire ; 
How long since thou wast in thine Infancy? 
Thy strength, and stature, more thy years admire, 



ANNE BRADSTREET 13 

Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born ? 

Or thousand since thou brakest thy shell of horn, 20 

If so, all these as nought, Eternity doth scorn. 



Then higher on the glistering Sun I gaz'd. 

Whose beams was shaded by the leavie Tree, 

The more I look'd, the more I grew amaz'd. 

And softly said, what glory's like to thee ? 25 

Soul of this world, this Universes Eye, 

No wonder, some made thee a Deity : 

Had I not better known, (alas) the same had I. 



30 



Thou as a Bridegroom from thy Chamber rushes, 

And as a strong man, joyes to run a race. 

The morn doth usher thee, with smiles & blushes. 

The Earth reflects her glances in thy face. 

Birds, insects, Animals with Vegative, 

Thy heart from death and dulness doth revive : 

And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive. 35 



Thy swift Annual, and diurnal Course, 

Thy daily streight, and yearly oblique path. 

Thy pleasing fervor, and thy scorching force, 

All mortals here the feeling knowledg hath. 

Thy presence makes it day, thy absence night, 40 

Quaternal Season caused by thy might : 

Hail Creature, full of sweetness, beauty & delight. 



Art thou so full of glory, that no Eye 

Hath strength, thy shining Rayes once to behold? 

And is thy splendid Throne erect so high ? 45 

As to approach it, can no earthly mould. 



14 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

How full of glory then must thy Creator be? 
Who gave this bright light luster unto thee : 
Admir'd, ador'd for ever, be that Majesty. 

8 

60 Silent alone, where none or saw^, or heard, 

In pathless paths I lead my wandring feet, 
My humble Eyes to lofty Skyes I rear'd 
To sing some Song, my mazed Muse thought meet. 
My great Creator I would magnifie, 

55 That nature had, thus decked liberally : 

But Ah, and Ah, again, my imbecility! 



I heard the merry grashopper then sing. 
The black clad Cricket, bear a second part. 
They kept one tune, and plaid on the same string, 
60 Seeming to glory in their little Art. 

Shall Creatures abject, thus their voices raise? 
And in their kind resound their makers praise : 
Whilst I as mute, can warble forth no higher layes. 



26 

While musing thus with contemplation fed, 
65 And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain. 

The sweet-tongu'd Philomel percht ore my head. 
And chanted forth a most melodious strain 
W^hich rapt me so with wonder and delight, 
I judg'd my hearing better then my sight, 
70 And wisht me wings with her a while to take my flight. 

27 

O merry Bird (said I) that fears no snares. 
That neither toyles nor hoards up in thy barn. 
Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating cares 
To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm 



WILLIAM BRADFORD 15 

Thy cloaths ne're wear, thy meat is every where, 75 

Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water cleer, 

Reminds not what is past, nor whats to come dost fear. 

28 

The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent, 
Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, 
* So each one tunes his pretty instrument, 80 

And warbling out the old, begin anew. 
And thus they pass their youth in summer season. 
Then follow thee into a better Region, 
Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion. 

WILLIAM BRADFORD 

Life at Merry Mount 

{From History of Plymouth Plantation) 

Aboute some 3. or 4. years before this time, ther came 
over one Captaine Wolastoue, (a man of pretie parts,) and 
with him 3. or 4. more of some eminencie, who brought 
with them a great many servants, with provissions & other 
implments for to begine a plantation ; and pitched them 5 
selves in a place within the Massachusets, Avhich they called, 
after their Captains name, Mount-Wollaston. Amongst 
whom was one Mr. Morton, who, it should seeme, had some 
small adventure (of his owne or other mens) amongst them ; 
but had litle respecte amongst them and was sleghted by 10 
the meanest servants. Haveing continued ther some time, 
and not finding things to answer their expectations, nor 
profite to arise as they looked for, Captaine Wollaston 
takes a great part of the sarvents, and transports them 
to Virginia, wher he puts them of at good rates, selling 15 
their time to other men ; and writs back to one Mr. Rass- 
dall, one of his cheefe partners, and accounted their mar- 



16 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

chant, to bring another parte of them to Verginia likewise, 
intending to put them of there as he had done the rest. 

20 And he, with the consente of the said Rasdall, ap- 
poynted one Fitcher to be his Livetenante, and governe the 
remaines of the plantation, till he or Rasdall returned to 
take further order theraboute. But this Morton abovesaid, 
haveing more craft than honestie, (who had been a kind of 

25 petiefogger, of Furnefells Inne,) in the others absence, 
watches an oppertunitie, (commons being but hard amongst 
them,) and gott some strong drinck and other junkats, & 
made them a feast ; and after they were merie, he begane to 
tell them, he would give them good counsell. You see 

30 (saith he) that many of your fellows are carried to Virginia; 
and if you stay till this Rasdall returne, you will also be 
carried away and sould for slaves with the rest. Therfore 
I would advise you to thrust out this Levetenant Fitcher ; 
and I, having a parte in the plantation, will receive you as 

35 my partners and consociats ; so may you be free from ser- 
vice, and we will converse, trad, plante, & live togeather as 
equalls, & supporte & protecte one another, or to like effecte. 
This counsell was easily received; so they tooke opper- 
tunitie, and thrust Levetenante Fitcher out a dores, and 

40 would suffer him to come no more amongst them, but forct 
him to seeke bread to eate, and other releefe from his 
neigbours, till he could gett passages for England. After 
this they fell to great licenciousness, and led a dissolute 
life, powering out them selves into all profanenes. And 

45 Morton became lord of misrule, and maintained (as it were) 
a schoole of Athisme. And after they had gott some good 
into their hands, and gott much by trading with the Indeans, 
they spent it as vainly, in quaffing & and drinking both 
wine & strong waters in great exsess, and, as some reported 

50l0£. worth in a morning. They allso set up a May-pole, 
drinking and dancing aboute it many days togeather, invit- 



JOHN WINTHROP 17 

iiig the Indean women, for their consorts, dancing and 
frisking togither, (like so many fairies, or furies rather,) 
and worse practises. As if they had anew revived & cele- 
brated the feasts of the Eoman Goddes Flora, or the beasly 55 
practieses of the madd Bacchinalians. Morton likwise (to 
shew his poetrie) composed sundry rimes & verses, some 
tending to lasciviousnes, and others to the detraction & 
scandall of some persons, which he affixed to this idle or 
idoll May-polle. They chainged allso the name of their 60 
place, and in stead of calling it Mounte Wollaston, they call 
it Merie-mounte, as if this joylity would have lasted ever. 
But this continued not long, for after Morton was sent for 
England, (as follows to be declared,) shortly after came over 
that worthy gentlman, Mr. John Indecott, who brought 65 
over a patent under the broad seall, for the governmente of 
the Massachusets, who visiting those parts caused that 
May-polle to be cutt downe, and rebuked them for their 
profannes, and admonished them to looke ther should be 
better walking ; so they now, or others, changed the name 70 
of their place againe, and called it Mounte-Dagon. 

JOHN WINTHROP 

The "Little Speech" on Liberty 

{From The History of New England) 

There is a twofold liberty, natural (I mean as our nature 
is now corrupt) and civil or federal. The first is common 
to man with beasts and other creatures. By this, man, as 
he stands in relation to man simply, hath liberty to do 
what he lists ; it is a liberty to evil as well as to good. 5 
This liberty is incompatible and inconsistent with authority, 
and cannot endure the least restraint of the most just 
authority. The exercise and maintaining of this liberty 



18 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

makes men grow more evil, and in time to be wofse than 

10 brute beasts: omnes sumus licentia deteriores. This is 
that great enemy of truth and peace, that wild beast, which 
all the ordinances of God are bent against, to restrain and 
subdue it. The other kind of liberty I call civil or federal, 
it may also be termed moral, in reference to the covenant 

15 between God and man, in the moral law, and the politic 
covenants and constitutions, amongst men themselves. This 
liberty is the proper end and object of authority, and can- 
not subsist without it; and it is a liberty to that only 
which is good, just, and honest. This liberty you are to 

20 stand for, with the hazard (not only of your goods, but) of 
your lives, if need be. Whatsoever crosseth this, is not 
authority, but a distemper thereof. This liberty is main- 
tained and exercised in a way of subjection to authority ; 
it is of the same kind of liberty wherewith Christ hath 

25 made us free. The woman's own choice makes such a man 
her husband ; yet being so chosen, he is her lord, and she is 
to be subject to him, yet in a way of liberty, not of bondage; 
and a true wife accounts her subjection her honor and free- 
dom, and would not think her condition safe and free, but 

30 in her subjection to her husband's authority. Such is the 
liberty of the church under the authority of Christ, her 
king and husband ; his yoke is so easy and sweet to her as 
a bride's ornaments ; and if through frowardness or wanton- 
ness, etc., she shake it off, at any time, she is at no rest in 

35 her spirit, until she take it up again ; and whether her lord 
smiles upon her, and embraceth her in his arms, or whether 
he frowns, or rebukes, or smites her, she apprehends the 
sweetness of his love in all, and is refreshed, supported, 
and instructed by every such dispensation of his authority 

40 over her. On the other side, ye know who they are that 
complain of this yoke and say, let us break their bands, etc., 
we will not have this man to rule over us. Even so, breth- 



COTTON MATHER 19 

ren, it will be between you and your magistrates. If you 
stand for your natural corrupt liberties, and will do what is 
good in your own eyes, you will not endure the least weight 45 
of authority, but will murmur, and oppose, and be always 
striving to shake off that yoke ; but if you will be satisfied 
to enjoy such civil and lawful liberties, such as Christ 
allows you, then will you quietly and cheerfully submit 
unto that authority which is set over you, in all the admin- 50 
istrations of it, for your good. Wherein, if we fail at any 
time, we hope we shall be willing (by God's assistance) to 
hearken to good advice from any of yon, or in any other 
way of God; so shall your liberties be preserved, in up- 
holding the honor and power of authority amongst you. 55 

COTTON MATHER 

Character of Governor Bradford 

{From Magnalia) 

The leader of a people in a wilderness had need to be a 
Moses; and if a Moses had not led the people of Plymouth 
Colony, when this worthy person was their governour, the 
people had never with so much unanimity and importunity 
still called him to lead them. Among many instances 5 
thereof, let this one piece of self-denial be told for a memo- 
rial of him, wheresoever this History shall be considered : 
The Patent of the Colony was taken in his name, running 
in these terms ; "To William Bradford, his heirs, associates, 
and assigns." But when the number of the freemen was 10 
much increased, and many new townships erected, the Gen- 
eral Court there desired of Mr. Bradford, that he would 
make a surrender of the same into their hands, which he 
willingly and presently assented unto, and confirmed it 
according to their desire by his hand and seal, reserving no 15 



20 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

more for himself than was his proportion with others, by 
agreement. But as lie found the providence of Heaven 
many ways recompensing his many acts of self-denial, so 
he gave this testimony to the faithfulness of the divine 

20 promises : " That he had forsaken friends, houses and lands 
for the sake of the gospel, and the Lord gave them him 
again." Here he prospered in his estate; and besides a 
worthy son which he had by a former wife, he had also two 
sons and a daughter by another, whom he married in this 

25 land. 

He was a person for study as well as action ; and hence, 
notwithstanding the difficulties through which he passed in 
his youth, he attained unto a notable skill in languages : the 
Dutch tongue was become almost as vernacular to him as 

30 the English ; the French tongue he could also manage ; the 
Latin and the Greek he had mastered ; but the Hebrew he 
most of all studied, " Because," he said, " he would see with 
his own eyes the ancient oracles of God in their native 
beauty." He was also well skilled in History, and 

35 Antiquity, and in Philosophy ; and for Theology he became 
so versed in it, that he was an irrefragable disputant against 
the errors, especially those of Anabaptism, which with 
trouble he saw rising in his colony ; wherefore he wrote 
some significant things for the confutation of those errors. 

40 But the crown of all was his holy, prayerful, watchful, and 
fruitful walk with God, wherein he was very exemplary. 

At length he fell into an indisposition of body, which 
rendered him unhealthy for a whole winter; and as the 
spring advanced, his health yet more declined ; yet he felt 

45 himself not what he counted sick, till one day; in the 
night after which, the God of heaven so filled his mind with 
ineffable consolations, that he seemed little short of Paul, 
rapt up into the unutterable entertainments of Paradise. 
The next morning he told his friends, " That the good 



JONATHAN EDWARDS 21 

Spirit of God had given liiin a pledge of his happiness 50 
in another world, and the first fruits of his eternal glory ; " 
and on the day following he died, May 9, 1657, in the 69th 
year of his age — lamented by all the colonies of New 
England, as a common blessing and father to them all. 

mihi si Similis Contlngat Clausula VitcB ! 55 

Plato's brief description of a governour, is all that I will 
now leave as his character, in an EPITAPH. 

No/xev? T/3o<^0? dyeXiy? dv^/ocuTriVT/?. 

MEN are but FLOCKS : BRADFORD beheld their need, 
And long did them at once both rule and feed. 60 

JONATHAN EDWARDS 

{From Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God) 

Deuteronomy xxxii. 35. — "Their foot shall slide in due time." 
* * * * * * 

The observation from the words that I would now insist 
upon is this. 

There is nothing that keeps wicked men at any one moment 
out of hell, hut the m^ere pleasure of God. 

By the mere pleasure of God, I mean his sovereign pleas- 5 
ure, his arbitrary will, restrained by no obligation, hindered 
by no manner of difficulty, any more than if nothing else 
but God's mere will had in the least degree or in any respect 
whatsoever any hand in the preservation of wicked men one 
moment. 10 

The truth of this observation may appear by the follow- 
ing considerations. 

1. There is no want of power in God to cast wicked 
men into hell at any moment. * ^ =* 

2. They deserve to be cast into hell ; so that divine 15 



22 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

justice never stands in the way, it makes no objection 
against God's using his power at any moment to destroy 
them. ^ * * 

3. They are already under a sentence of condemnation 
20 to hell. * * * 

4. They are now the subjects of that very same anger 
and wrath of God, that is expressed in the torments of 
hell. * * * 

0. The devil stands ready to fall upon them, and seize 
25 them as his own, at what moment God shall permit 
him. * * * 

6. There are in the souls of wicked men those hellish 

principles reigning, that would presently kindle and flame 

out into hell-fire, if it were not for God's restraints. * * * 

30 7. It is no security to wicked men for one moment, that 

there are no visible means of death at hand. * * * 

8. Natural men's prudence and care to preserve their 
own lives, or the care of others to preserve them, don't 
secure 'em a moment. * * * 
35 9. All wicked men's jxiins and contrivance they use to 
escape hell, while they continue to reject Christ, and so re- 
main wicked men, don't secure 'em from hell one moment. 

* * # 

10. God has laid himself under oio obligation, by any 
promise, to keep any natural man out of hell one moment. 

* * * 

40 So that thus it is, that natural men are held in the hand 
of God over the pit of hell ; they have deserved the fiery 
pit, and are already sentenced to it ; and God is dreadfully 
provoked, his anger is as great towards them as to those 
that are actually suffering the executions of the fierceness 

45 of his wrath in hell, and they have done nothing in the least 
to appease or abate that anger, neither is God in the least 
bound by any promise to hold 'em up one moment ; the devil 



JONATHAN EDWARDS 23 

is waiting for them, the flames gather and flash about them, 
and would fain lay hold on them and swallow them up ; the 
fire pent up in their own hearts is struggling to break out; 50 
and they have no interest in any Mediator, there are no 
means within reach that can be any security to them. In 
short they have no refuge, nothing to take hold of; all that 
preserves them every moment is the mere arbitrary will, 
and uncovenanted, unobliged forbearance of an incensed 55 
God. * * * 

And let every one that is yet out of Christ and hanging 
over the pit of hell, whether they be old men and women 
or middle-aged or young people or little children, now 
hearken to the loud calls of God's word and providence. 60 
This acceptable year of the Lord that is a day of such great 
favor to some will doubtless be a day of as remarkable ven- 
geance to others. Men's hearts harden and their guilt in- 
creases apace at such a day as this, if they neglect their 
souls. And never was there so great danger of such persons 65 
being given up to hardness of heart and blindness of mind. 
God seems now to be hastily gathering his elect in all parts 
of the land ; and probably the bigger part of adult persons 
that ever shall be saved will be brought in now in a little 
time, and that it will be as it was on that great outpouring 70 
of the Spirit upon the Jews in the Apostles' days, the elec- 
tion will obtain and the rest will be blinded. If this should 
be the case with you, you will eternall}^ curse this day, and 
will curse the day that ever you was born to see such a sea- 
son of the pouring out of God's Spirit, and will wish that 75 
you had died and gone to hell before you had seen it. Now 
undoubtedly it is as it was in the days of John the Baptist, 
the axe is in an extraordinary manner laid at the root of the 
trees, that every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit may 
be hewn down and cast into the fire. 80 

Therefore let everyone that is out of Christ now awake 



24 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

and fly from the wrath to come. The wrath of Almighty 
God is now undoubtedly hanging over a great part of this 
congregation. Let every one fly out of Sodom. " Haste and 
85 escape for your lives, look not hehiiid you, escape to the moun- 
tains, lest ye he consumed.^'' 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 

On Drunkenness 

(Dogood Papers, No. 12) 

Quod est in corde sohrii, est in ore ebril. 

To THE Author of the New-England Coukant. 

Sir, 

IT is no unprofitable tho' unpleasant Pursuit, diligently to 
5 inspect and consider the Manners & Conversation of Men, 
who insensible of the greatest Enjoyments of humane Life, 
abandon themselves to Vice from a false Notion of Pleasure 
and good Fellowship. A true and natural Representation of 
any Enormity, is often the best Argument against it and 
10 Means of removing it, when the most severe Reprehensions 
alone, are found ineffectual. 

I WOULD in this Letter improve the little Observation I 
have made on the Vice of Drunkeiiness, the better to reclaim 
the good Fellows who usually pay the Devotions of the 
15 Evening to Bacchus. 

I DOUBT not but moderate Drinking has been improv'd 
for the Diffusion of Knowledge among the ingenious Part of 
Mankind, who want the Talent of a ready Utterance, in 
order to discover the Conceptions of their Minds in an enter- 
20taining and intelligible Manner. 'Tis true, drinking does 
not improve our Faculties, but it enables us to use them ; 
and therefore I conclude, that much Study and experience, 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 25 

and a little Liquor, are of absolute Necessity for some Tem- 
pers, in order to make them accomplish'd orators. Die. Ponder 
discovers an excellent Judgment when he is inspir'd with a 25 
glass or two of Claret, but he passes for a Fool among those 
of small Observation, who never saw him the better for 
Drink. And here it will not be improper to observe, That 
the moderate Use of Liquor, and a well plac'd and well reg- 
ulated Anger, often produce this same Effect ; and some who 30 
cannot ordinarily talk but in broken Sentences and false 
Grammar, do in the Heat of Passion express themselves 
with as much Eloquence as Warmth. Hence it is that my 
own Sex are generally the most eloquent, because the most 
passionate. " It has been said in the Praise of some Men," 35 
(says an ingenious Author,) " that they could talk whole 
Hours together upon any thing; but it must be owned to 
the Honour of the other Sex, that there are many among 
them who can talk whole Hours together ujjon Nothing. I 
have known a Woman branch out into a long extempore Dis- 40 
sertation on the Edging of a Petticoat, and chide her Servant 
for breaking a China Cup, in all the Figures of Rhetorick." 

BUT .after all it must be consider'd, that no Pleasure can 
give Satisfaction or prove advantageous to a reasonable Mind, 
which is not attended with the Restraints of Reason. Enjoy- 45 
ment is not to be found by Excess in any sensual Gratifica- 
tion ; but on the contrary, the immoderate Cravings of the 
Voluptuary, are always succeeded with Loathing and a 
palled Appetite. What Pleasure can the Drunkard have 
in the Reflection, that while in his Cups, he retain'd only 50 
the Shape of a Man, and acted the Part of a Beast ; or that 
from reasonable Discourse a few Minutes before, he descended 
to Impertinence and Nonsense ? 

I CANNOT pretend to account for the different Effects of 
Liquor on Persons of different Dispositions, who are guilty 55 
of Excess in the LTse of it. 'Tis strange to see Men of a 



26 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

regular Conversation become rakish and profane when intoxi- 
cated with Drink, and yet more surprizing to observe, tliat 
some who appear to be the most profligate Wretches when 

60 sober, become mighty religious in their Cups, and will then, 
and at no other Time address their Maker, but when they 
are destitute of Reason, and actually affronting him. Some 
shrink in the Wetting, and others swell to such an unusual 
Bulk in their Imaginations, that they can in an Instant 

65 understand all Arts and Sciences, by the liberal Education 
of a little vivyfying Punch, or a sufficient Quantity of other 
exhilerating Liquor. 

AND as the Effects of Liquor are various, so are the Char- 
acters given to its Devourers. It argues some Shame in the 

70 Drunkards themselves, in that they have invented numberless 
Words and Phrases to cover their Folly, whose proper Signi- 
fications are harmless, or have no Signification at all. They 
are seldom known to be drunk, tho they are very often boozey, 
cogey, ti2^sey,fox\l, merry, melloiv, fuddVd, groatable, Confound- 

75 edly cut, See two Moons, are Among the PhiUstines, In a very 
good Humour, See the Sun, or, The Sun has shone upon them ; 
they Clip the King^s English, are Almost froze, Feavourish, In 
their Altitudes, Pretty ivell entered, &c. In short, every Day 
produces some new Word or Phrase which might be added 

80 to the Vocabulary of the Tiplers: But I have chose to 
mention these few, because if at any Time a Man of Sobriety 
and Temperance happens to cut himself confoundedly, or is 
almost froze, or feavourish, or accidently sees the Sun, &c. he 
may escape the Imputation of being drunk, when his Mis- 

85 fortune comes to be related. 

I am Sir, 

Your Humble Servant, 

Silence Dogood. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 27 

Growth of Ill-Humor in America 

{From Causes of the American Discontents) 
The Waves uever rise but wlien the Winds blow. — Prov. 

Sir, 

As the cause of the present ill-humour in America, and 
of the resolutions taken there to purchase less of our manu- 
factures, does not seem to be generally understood, it may 5 
afford some satisfaction to your Readers, if you give them 
the following short historical state of facts. 

From the time that the Colonies were first considered as 
capable of granting aids to the Crown, down to the end of 
the last war, it is said, that the constant mode of obtaining lo 
those aids was by RequisHion made from the Crown through 
its Governors to the several Assemblies, in circular letters 
from the Secretary of State in his Majesty's name, setting 
forth the occasion, requiring them to take the matter into 
consideration ; and expressing a reliance on their prudence, 15 
duty and affection to his Majesty's Government, that they 
would grant such sums, or raise such numbers of men, as 
were suitable to their respective circumstances. 

The Colonies, being accustomed to this method, have 
from time to time granted money to the Crown, or raised 20 
troops for its service, in proportion to their abilities ; and 
during the last war beyond their abilities, so that consider- 
able sums were returned them yearly by Parliament, as 
they had exceeded their proportion. 

Had this happy method of Requisition been continued, 25 
(a method that left the King's subjects in those remote 
countries the pleasure of showing their zeal and loyalty, 
and of imagining that they recommended themselves to 
their Sovereign by the liberality of their voluntary grants) 
there is no doubt but all the money that could reasonably 30 
be expected to be raised from them in any manner, might 



28 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

have been obtained, without the least heart-burning, of- 
fence, or breach of the harmony, of alfections and interests, 
that so long subsisted between the two countries. 

35 It has been thought wisdom in a Government exercising 
sovereignty over different kinds of people, to have some re- 
gard to prevailing and established opinions among the 
people to be governed, wherever such opinions might, in 
their effects obstruct or promote public measures. If they 

40 tend to obstruct public service, they are to be changed, if 
possible, before we attempt to act against them ; and they 
can only be changed by reason and persuasion. But if pub- 
lic business can be carried on without thwarting those 
opinions, if they can be, on the contrary, made subservient 

45 to it, they are not unnecessarily to be thwarted, how absurd 
so ever such popular opinions may be in their nature. 

This had been the wisdom of our Government with re- 
spect to raising money in the colonies. It was well known, 
that the Colonists universally were of opinion, that no 

50 money could be levied from English subjects, but by their 
own consent given by themselves or their chosen Repre- 
sentatives : That therefore, whatever money was to be 
raised from the people in the Colonies, must first be granted 
by their Assemblies, as the money raised in Britain is first 

55 to be granted by the House of Commons : That this right 
of granting their own money, was essential to English 
liberty : And that if any man, or body of men, in which 
they had no Representative of their choosing, could tax 
them at pleasure, they could not be said to have any prop- 

eoerty, any thing they could call their own. But as these 
opinions did not hinder their granting money voluntarily 
and amply whenever the Crown by its servants came into 
their Assemblies (as it does into its Parliaments of Britain 
or Ireland) and demanded aids ; therefore that method was 

65 chosen rather than the hateful one of arbitrary taxes. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 29 

I do not undertake here to support those opinions of the 
Americans ; they have been refuted by a late Act of Parlia- 
ment, declaring its own power; which very Parliament, 
however, shewed wisely so much tender regard to those in- 
veterate prejudices, as to repeal a tax that had militated 70 
against them. And those prejudices are still so fixed and 
rooted in the Americans, that, it has been supposed, not a 
single man among them has been convinced of his error, 
even by that Act of Parliament. 

They reflected how lightly the interest of all America had 75 
been estimated here, when the interests of a few of the in- 
habitants of Great Britain happened to have the smallest 
competition with it. That thus the whole American people 
was forbidden the advantage of a direct importation of wine, 
oil, and fruit, from Portugal, but must take them loaded 80 
with all the expences of a voyage 1000 leagues round about, 
being to be landed first in England, to be re-shipped for 
America; expences amounting, in war time, at least to 30 
per cent, more than otherwise they would have been charged 
with, and all this merely that a few Portugal merchants in 85 
London may gain a commission on those goods passing 
through their hands, Portugal merchants, by the by, that 
can complain loudly of the smallest hardships laid on their 
trade by foreigners, and yet even in the last year could 
oppose with all their influence the giving ease to their fel- 90 
low subjects labouring under so heavy an oppression ! That 
on a slight complaint of a few Virginia merchants, nine 
colonies had been restrained from inaking paper money, 
become absolutely necessary to their internal commerce 
from the constant remittance of their gold and silver to 95 
Britain. 

But not only the interest of a x^articular body of mer- 
chants, the interest of any small body of British tradesmen 
or artificers, has been found, they say, to outweigh that of 



30 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

100 all the King's subjects in the colonies. There can not be a 
stronger natural right than that of a man's making the best 
profit he can of the natural produce of his lands, provided 
he does not thereby hurt the state in general. Iron is to be 
found everywhere in America, and beaver furs are the 

105 natural produce of that country : hats, and nails, and steel 
are wanted there as well as here. It is of no importance to 
the common welfare of the empire, whether a subject of 
the King's gets his living by making hats on this or that side 
of the water. Yet the Hatters of England have prevailed 

110 to obtain an Act in their own favour, restraining that man- 
ufacture in America, in order to oblige the Americans to 
send their beaver to England to be manufactured, and 
purchase back the hats, loaded with the charges of a double 
transportation. In the same manner have a few Nail- 

115 makers, and a still smaller body of Steel-makers (perhaps 
there are not half a dozen of these in England) prevailed 
totally to forbid by an Act of Parliament the erecting of 
slitting-mills or steel-furnaces in America; that the Ameri- 
cans may be obliged to take all the nails for their buildings, 

120 and steel for their tools, from these artificers, under the 
same disadvantages. 

Added to these, the Americans remembered the Act au- 
thorizing the most cruel insult that perhaps was ever offered 
by one people to another, that of emptymg our gaols into 

125 their settlements : Scotland too having within these two 
years obtained the privelege it had not before, of sending 
its rogues and villains also to the plantations. I say, re- 
flecting on these things, they said one to another (their 
newspapers are full of such discourses) these people are not 

130 content with making a monopoly of us, forbidding us to 
trade with any other country of Europe, and compelling us 
to buy everything of them, though in many articles we 
could furnish ourselves 10, 20, and even to 50 per cent 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 31 

cheaper elsewhere ; but now they have as good as declared 
they have a right to tax us ad libitum internally and ex- 135 
ternally, and that our constitutions and liberties shall all 
be taken away, if we do not submit to that claim. 

These are the wild ravings of the at present half dis- 
tracted Americans. To be sure, no reasonable man in Eng- 
land can approve of such sentiments, and, as I said before, I do 140 
not pretend to support or justify them : But I sincerely wish, 
for the sake of the manufactures and commerce of Great 
Britain, and for the sake of the strength which a firm union 
with our growing colonies would give us, that these people 
had never been thus needlessly driven out of their senses. 145 
I am, yours, &c. 

F + S. 

Britain's Dealings With Her Colonies Imitated 
(From An Edict by the King of Prussia) 

We have long wondered here at the supineness of the 
English nation, under the Prussian impositions upon its 
trade entering our port. We did not, till lately, know the 
claims, ancient and modern, that hang over that nation ; and 
therefore could not suspect that it might submit to those 
impositions from a sense of duty or from principles of 5 
equity. The following Edict, just made publick, may, if 
serious, throw some light upon this matter. 

* # * # # # 

" Whereas it is well known to all the world, that the first 
German settlements made in the Island of Britain, were by 10 
colonies of people, subject to our renowned ducal ancestors, 
and drawn from their dominions, under the conduct of Hen- 
gist, Horsa, Hella, Uff, Cerdicus, Ida, and others ; and that 
the said colonies have flourished under the protection of our 
august house for ages past ; have never been emancipated 15 



32 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

therefrom ; and yet have hitherto yielded little profit to the 
same : And whereas we ourself have in the last war fought 
for and defended the said colonies, against the power of 
France, and thereby enabled them to make conquests from 

20 the said power in America, for which we have not yet re- 
ceived adequate compensation: And whereas it is just and 
expedient that a revenue should be raised from the said 
colonies in Britain, towards our indemnification; and that 
those who are descendants of our ancient subjects, and 

25 thence still owe us due obedience, should contribute to the 
replenishing of our royal coffers as they must have done, 
had their ancestors remained in the territories now to us 
appertaining : We do therefore hereby ordain and command, 
that, from and after the date of these presents, there shall 

30 be levied and paid to our officers of the customs, on all goods, 
wares, and merchandizes, and on all grain and other produce 
of the earth, exported from the said Island of Britain, and 
on all goods of whatever kind imported into the same, a 
duty of four and a half per cent ad valorem, for the use of 

35 us and our successors. And that the said duty may more 
effectually be collected, we do hereby ordain, that all ships 
or vessels bound from Great Britain to any other part of the 
world, or from any other part of the world to Great Britain, 
shall in their respective voyages touch at our port of 

40 Koningsberg, there to be unladen, searched, and charged 
with the said duties. 

"And, lastly, being willing farther to favour our said 
colonies in Britain, we do hereby also ordain and command, 
that all the thieves, highway and street robbers, house- 
45 breakers, forgerers, murderers, and villains of every denom- 
ination, who have forfeited their lives to the law in Prussia; 
but whom we, in our great clemency, do not think fit here 
to hang, shall be emptied out of our gaols into the said 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 33 

island of Great Britain, for the better peopling of that 
country. 50 

"We flatter ourselves, that these our royal regulations 
and commands will be thought just and reasonable by our 
much-favoured colonists in England; the said regulations 
being copied from their statutes of 10 and 11 William, c. 10, 
5 Geo. II. c. 22, 23, Geo. II. c. 29, 4 Geo. I. c. 11, and from 55 
other equitable laws made by their parliaments ; or from 
instructions given by their Princes; or from resolutions of 
both Houses, entered into for the good government of their 
own colonies in Ireland and America. 

" And all persons in the said island are hereby cautioned 60 
not to oppose in any wise the execution of this our Edict, or 
any part thei:eof, such opposition being high treason ; of 
which all who are suspected shall be transported in fetters 
from Britain to Prussia, there to be tried and executed 
according to the Prussian law. 65 

" Such is our pleasure. 

" Given at Potsdam, this twenty-fifth day of the month 
of August, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-three, 
and in the thirty-third year of our reign. 

" By the King, in his Council. 70 

" Rechtmaessig, /Sec." 

Some take this Edict to be merely one of the King's Jeux 
d'' Esprit: others suppose it serious, and that he means a 
quarrel with England ; but all here think the assertion it 
concludes with, " that these regulations are copied from acts 75 
of the English parliament respecting their colonies," a very 
injurious one ; it being impossible to believe, that a people 
distinguished for their love of liberty, a nation so wise, so 
liberal in its sentiments, so just and equitable towards its 
neighbors, should, from mean and injudicious views of petty 80 



34 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

immediate profit, treat its own children in a manner so arbi- 
trary and tyrannical ! 



The Whistle 

(A Letter to Madame Brillon) 

I received my dear friend's two letters, one for Wednes- 
day and one for Saturday. This is again Wednesday. 1 
do not deserve one for to-day, because I have not answered 
the former. But, indolent as I am, and averse to writing, 

6 the fear of having no more of your pleasing epistles, if I do 
not contribute to the correspondence, obliges me to take up 
my pen ; and as Mr. B. has kindly sent me word, that he 
sets out to-morrow to see you, instead of spending this 
Wednesday evening as I have done its namesakes, in your 

10 delightful company, I sit down to spend it in thinking of 
you, in writing to you, and in reading over and over again 
your letters. 

I am charmed with your description of Paradise, and 
with your plan of living there ; and I approve much of 

15 your conclusion, that, in the mean time, we should draw all 
the good we can from this world. In my opinion, we might 
all draw more good from it than we do, and suffer less evil, 
if we would take care not to give too much for whistles. 
For to me it seems, that most of the unhappy people we 

20 meet with, are become so by neglect of that caution. 

You ask what I mean ? You love stories, and will ex- 
cuse my telling one of myself. 

When I was a child of seven years old, my friends, on a 
holiday, filled my pockets with coppers. I went directly 

25 to a shop where they sold toys for children ; and being 
charmed with the sound of a whistle, that I met by the way 
in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and gave 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 35 

all my money for one. I then came home, and went whist- 
ling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but 
disturbing all the family. My brothers, and sisters, and 30 
cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I 
had given four times as much for it as it was worth ; put 
me in mind what good things I might have bought with the 
rest of my money; and laughed at me so much for my 
folly, that I cried with vexation ; and the reflection gave 35 
me more chagrin than the ichistle gave me pleasure. 

This however was afterwards of use to me, the impres- 
sion continuing on my mind ; so that often, when I was 
tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to myself, 
BojiH give too much for the ivhistle; and I saved my money. 40 

As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the 
actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, who 
gave too much for the whistle. 

When I saw one too ambitious of court favour, sacrificing 
his time in attendance on levees, his repose, his liberty, his 45 
virtue, and perhaps his friends to attain it, I have said to 
myself. This man gives too much for his whistle. 

When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly em- 
ploying himself in political bustles, neglecting his own 
affairs, and ruining them by that neglect. He pays, indeed, 50 
said I, too much for his ivhistle. 

If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfort- 
able living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, all the 
esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevolent 
friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth. Poor man, 55 
said I, you pay too much for your whistle. 

When I met with a man of pleasure, sacrificing every 
laudable improvement of the mind, or of his fortune, to mere 
corporeal sensations, and ruining his health in their pursuit, 
Mistaken man, said I, you are providing p)ain for yourself, 60 
instead ofptleasure ; you give too much for your whistle. 



36 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

If I see one fond of appearance, or fine clothes, fine 
houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his fortune, 
for which he contracts debts, and ends his career in a prison, 
65 Alas! say I, he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle. 

When I see a beautiful, sweet-tempered girl married to 
an ill-natured brute of a husband. What a 2)ity, say I, that 
she should pay so much for a ivhistle! 

In short, I conceive that great part of the miseries of 
70 mankind are brought upon them by the false estimates 
they have made of the value of things, and by their giving 
too much for their ivhistles. 

Yet I ought to have charity for these unhappy people, 
when I consider, that, with all this wisdom of which I am 
75 boasting, there are certain things in the world so tempting, 
for example, the apples of King John, which happily are 
not to be bought ; for if they were put to sale by auction, 
I might very easily be led to ruin myself in the purchase, 
and find that I had once more given too much for the 
80 whistle. 

Adieu, my dear friend, and believe me ever yours very 
sincerely and with unalterable affection, 

B. Franklin. 

PATRICK HENRY 

{From Liberty or Death) 

Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. 
Sir, we have done every thing that could be done, to avert 
the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned — 
we have remonstrated — we have supplicated — we have 
5 prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored 
its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the minis- 
try and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted ; our 
remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult ; 



PATRICK HENRY 37 

our supplications have been disregarded ; and we have been 
spurned with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In 10 
vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of 
peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for 
hope. If we wish to be free — if we mean to preserve in- 
violate those inestimable privileges for which we have been 
so long contending — if we mean not basely to abandon the 15 
noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and 
which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon, until 
the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained — we 
must fight ! — I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to 
arms and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! 20 

They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with 
so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger ? 
Will it be the next week or the next year? Will it be 
when we are totaUy disarmed, and when a British guard 
shall be stationed in every house ? Shall we gather 25 
strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire 
the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our 
backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our 
enemies shall have bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are 
not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the 30 
God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of 
people armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a 
country as that which we possess, are invincible by any 
force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, 
we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God 35 
who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will 
raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, 
is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the 
brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base 
enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the con- 40 
test. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! 
Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on 



38 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it 
come ! ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! ! ! 

45 It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may 
cry, peace, peace, — but there is no peace. The war is 
actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north 
will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our 
brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle ? 

50 What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? 
Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the 
price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Almighty God ! 
I know not what course others may take; but as for me, 
give me liberty, or give me death ! 

JAMES OTIS 

{From On the Writs of Assistance) 

One of the most essential branches of English liberty is 
the freedom of one's house. A man's house is his castle ; 
and wliilst he is quiet, he is as well guarded as a prince in 
his castle. This writ, if it should be declared legal, would 
5 totally annihilate this privilege. Custom-house officers may 
enter our houses when they please ; we are commanded to 
permit their entry. Their menial servants may enter, may 
break locks, bars, and everything in their way ; and whether 
they break through malice or revenge, no man, no court can 

10 inquire. Bare suspicion without oath is sufficient. This 
wanton exercise of this power is not a chimerical suggestion 
of a heated brain. I will mention some facts. Mr. Pew 
had one of these writs, and when Mr. Ware succeeded him, 
he endorsed this writ over to Mr. Ware, so that these writs 

15 are negotiable from one officer to another ; and so your 
Honours have no opportunity of judging the persons to 
whom this vast power is delegated. Another instance is 
this: Mr. Justice Walley had called this same Mr. Ware 



JAMES OTIS 39 

before him, by a constable, for a breach of the Sabbath-day 
Acts, or that of profane swearing. As soon as he had 20 
finished, Mr. Ware asked him if he had done. He replied, 
"Yes." "Well then," said Mr. Ware, "I will show you a 
little of my power. I command you to permit me to search 
your house for uncustomed goods," and went on to search 
the house from garret to cellar; and then served the con- 25 
stable in the same manner ! But to show another absurdity 
in this writ, if it should be established, I insist upon it 
every person, by the 14 Charles II., has this power as well 
as the Custom-house officers. The words are, "it shall be 
lawful for any person or persons authorized, etc." What a 30 
scene does this open ! Every man prompted by revenge, 
ill-humour or wantonness to inspect the inside of his neigh- 
bor's house, may get a writ of assistance. Others will ask 
it from self-defense ; one arbitrary exertion will provoke 
another, until society be involved in tumult and in blood ! 35 

Again, these writs are not returned. Writs, in their 
nature, are temporary things. When the purposes for 
which they are issued are answered, they exist no more; 
but these live forever ; no one can be called to account. 
Thus reason and the constitution are both against this writ. 40 
Let us see what authority there is for it. Not more than 
one instance can be found of it in all our law-books ; and 
that was in the zenith of arbitrary power, namely, in the 
reign of Charles II., when star-chamber powers were pushed 
to extremity by some ignorant clerk of the exchequer. But 45 
had this writ been in any book whatever, it would have been 
illegal. All precedents are under the control of the princi- 
ples of law. Lord Talbot says it is better to observe these 
than any precedents, though in the House of Lords the last 
resort of the subject. No Acts of Parliament can establish 50 
such a writ ; though it should be made in the very words of 
the petition, it would be void. But this proves no more 



40 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

than what I before observed, that special writs may be 
granted on oath and probable suspicion. The act of 7 and 8 

55 William III. that the officers of the plantations shall have 
the same powers, etc., is confined to this sense ; that an 
officer should show probable ground; should take his oath 
of it; should do this before a magistrate; and that such 
magistrate, if he think proper, should issue a special war- 

00 rant to a constable to search the places. That of C Anne 
can prove no more. 



THOMAS PAINE 

Times that Try Men's Souls 

{From The Crisis, No. 1) 

These are the times that try men's souls. The summer 
soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink 
from the service of their country ; but he that stands it now, 
deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, 
5 like hell, is not easily conquered ; yet we have this conso- 
lation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious 
the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too 
lightly : it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. 
Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods ; 

10 and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as 
freedom should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army 
to enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right 
{not only to tax) but " to bind us in all cases whatsoever," 
and if being bound in that manner, is not slavery, then there 

15 is not such a thing as slavery upon earth. Even the ex- 
pression is impious; for so unlimited a power can belong 
only to God. 

W^hether the independence of the continent was declared 
too soon, or delayed too long, I will not now enter into as 



THOMAS PAINE 41 

an argument ; my own simple opinion is, that had it been 20 
eight months earlier, it would have been much better. We 
did not make a proper use of last winter, neither could we, 
while we were in a dependent state. However, the fault, 
if it were one, was all our own: ^we have none to blame 
but ourselves. But no great deal is lost yet. All that 25 
Howe has been doing this month past, is rather a ravage 
than a, conquest, which the spirit of the Jerseys, a year ago, 
would have quickly repulsed, and which time and a little 
resolution will soon recover. 

I have as little superstition in me as any man living, but 30 
my secret opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Al- 
mighty will not give up a people to military destruction, or 
leave them unsupportedly to perish, who have so earnestly 
and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities of war, by 
every decent method which wisdom could invent. Neither 35 
have I so much of the infidel in me, as to suppose that He 
has relinquished the government of the world, and given us 
up to the care of devils ; and as I do not, I cannot see on 
what grounds the king of Britain can look up to heaven for 
help against us: a common murderer, a highwayman, or a 40 
house-breaker, has as good a pretence as he. 

'Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes 
run through a country. All nations and ages have been 
subject to them: Britain has trembled like an ague at the 
report of a French fleet of flat bottomed boats ; and in the 45 
fourteenth century the whole English army, after ravaging 
the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified 
with fear ; and this brave exploit w^as performed by a few 

1 The present wiuter is worth an age, if rightly employed ; but if lost or 
neglected, the whole continent will partake of the evil : and there is no 
punishment that man does not deserve, be he who, or what, or where he 
will, that may be the means of sacrificing a season so precious and useful. 
— Author's note, a citation from his Common Sense. 



42 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

broken forces collected and headed by a woman, Joan of 
50 Arc. Would, that heaven might inspire some Jersey maid 
to spirit up her countrymen, and save her fair fellow suffer- 
ers from ravage and ravishment! Yet panics, in some 
cases, have their uses ; they produce as much good as hurt. 
Their duration is always short; the mind grows through 
55 them, and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their 
peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchstones of sin- 
cerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to light, 
which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered. In 
fact, they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an 
60 imaginary apparition would have upon a private murderer. 
They sift out the hidden thoughts of man, and hold them 
up in public to the world. Many a disguised tory has lately 
shown his head, that shall penitentially solemnize with 
curses the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware. 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 

{From his First Inaugural) 

Fellow-Citizexs of the Senate and House of Repre- 
sentatives : 

Among the vicissitudes incident to life, no event could 
have filled me with greater anxieties, than that of which 
the notification was transmitted by your order, and received 
on the 14th day of the present month. On the one hand, I 

5 was summoned by my country, whose voice I can never 
hear but with veneration and love, from a retreat which I 
had chosen with the fondest predilection, and, in my flatter- 
ing hopes, with an immutable decision, as the asylum of my 
declining years; a retreat which was rendered every day 

10 more necessary as well as more dear to me, by the addition 
of habit to inclination, and of frequent interruptions in my 



GEORGE WASHINGTON 43 

health to the gradual waste committed on it by time. On 
the other hand, the magnitude and difficulty of the trust, to 
which the voice of my country called me, being sufficient to 
awaken in the wisest and most experienced of her citizens 15 
a distrustful scrutiny into his qualifications, could not but 
overwhelm with despondence one, who, inheriting inferior 
endowments from nature, and unpracticed in the duties of 
civil administration, ought to be peculiarly conscious of his 
own deficiencies. In this conflict of emotions, all I dare 20 
aver is, that it has been my faithful study to collect my 
duty from a just appreciation of every circumstance by 
which it might be affected. All I dare hope is, that, if in 
executing this task, I have been too much swayed by a 
grateful remembrance of former instances, or by an affec-25 
tionate sensibility to this transcendent proof of the con- 
fidence of my fellow-citizens; and have hence too little 
consulted my incapacity as well as disinclination for the 
weighty and untried cares before me ; my error will be pal- 
liated by the motives which misled me, and its consequences 30 
be judged by my country with some share of the partiality 
in which they originated. 

# # * # * * # 

To the preceding observations I have one to add, which 
will be most properly addressed to the House of Kepresenta- 
tives. It concerns myself, and will therefore be as brief 35 
as possible. When I was first honored with a call into the 
service of my country, then on the eve of an arduous strug- 
gle for its liberties, the light in which I contemplated my 
duty, required that I should renounce every pecuniary com- 
pensation. From this resolution I have in no instance de-40 
parted. And being still under the impressions which 
produced it, I must decline as inapplicable to myself any 
share in the personal emoluments, which may be indispen- 
sably included in a permanent provision for the executive 



44 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

45 department ; and must accordingly pray, that the pecuniary 
estimates for the station in which I am placed may, during 
my continuance in it, be limited to such actual expenditures 
as the public good may be thought to require. 

Having thus imparted to you my sentiments, as they have 

50 been awakened by the occasion which brings us together, I 
shall take my present leave ; but not without resorting once 
more to the benign Parent of the human race, in humble 
supplication, that, since he has been pleased to favor the 
American people with opportunities for deliberating in per- 

55 feet tranquillity, and dispositions for deciding with unpar- 
alleled unanimity on a form of government for the security 
of their union and the advancement of their happiness; so 
his divine blessing may be equally conspicuous in the en- 
larged views, the temperate consultations, and the wise 

60 measures, on which the success of this government must 
depend. 

THOMAS JEFFERSON 

{From A Summary View of the Rights of British America) 

That these are our grievances, which we have thus laid 
before his majesty, with that freedom of language and sen- 
timent which becomes a free people claiming their rights, 
as derived from the laws of nature, and not as the gift of 

5 their chief magistrate : let those flatter who fear ; it is not 
an American art. To give praise which is not due, might 
be well from the venal, but would ill beseem those who are 
asserting the rights of human nature. They know, and will 
therefore say, that kings are the servants, not the proprie- 

10 tors of the people. Open your breast, Sire, to liberal and 
expanding thought. Let not the name of George the Third 
be a blot in the page of history. You are surrounded by 
British counsellors, but remember that they are parties. 



THOMAS JEFFERSON 45 

You have no ministers for American affairs, because you 
have none taken from among us, nor amenable to the laws 15 
on which they are to give advice. It behoves you, there- 
fore, to think and to act for yourself and your people. The 
great principles of right and wrong are legible to every 
reader ; to pursue them, requires not the aid of many coun- 
sellors. The whole art of government consists in the art of 20 
being honest. Only aim to do your duty, and mankind will 
give you credit where you fail. No longer persevere in 
sacrificing the rights of one part of the empire to the inor- 
dinate desires of another ; but deal out to all equal and im- 
partial right. Let no act be passed by any one legislature, 25 
which may infringe on the rights and liberties of another. 
This is the important post in which fortune has placed you, 
holding the balance of a great, if a well poised empire. This, 
Sire, is the advice of your great American council, on the 
observance of which may, perhaps, depend your felicity and 30 
future fame, and the preservation of that harmony, which 
alone can continue both to Great Britain and America, the 
reciprocal advantages of their connection. It is neither our 
wish, nor our interest to separate from her. We are will- 
ing, on our part, to sacrifice every thing which reason can 35 
ask, to the restoration of that tranquility for which all must 
wish. On their part, let them be ready to establish union 
and a generous plan. Let them name their terms, but let 
them be just. Accept of every commercial preference it is 
in our power to give for such things as we can raise for their 40 
use, or they make for ours. But let them not think to ex- 
clude us from going to other markets to dispose of those 
commodities which they cannot use, or to supply those 
wants which they cannot supply. Still less, let it be pro- 
posed that our properties within our own territories, shall 45 
be taxed or regulated by any power on earth but our own. 
The God wdio gave us life, gave us liberty at the same time ; 



46 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

the hand of force may destroy, but cannot disjoin them. 
This, Sire, is our last, our determined resolution ; and that 

50 you will be pleased to interpose with that efficacy which 
your earnest endeavours may ensure to procure redress of 
these our great grievances, to quiet the minds of your sub- 
jects in British America, against any apprehensions of fu- 
ture encroachment, to establish fraternal love and harmony 

55 through the whole empire, and that these may continue to 
the latest ages of time, is the fervent prayer of all British 
America ! 

ALEXANDER HAMILTON 

The Union as a Safeguard Against Domestic Faction and 
Insurrection 

(From The Federalist, No. IX) 

To THE People of the State of New York : 

A firm Union will be of the utmost moment to the peace 
and liberty of the States, as a barrier against domestic fac- 
tion and insurrection. It is impossible to read the history 

5 of the petty republics of Greece and Italy without feeling 
sensations of horror and disgust at the distractions with 
which they were continually agitated, and at the rapid suc- 
cession of revolutions by which they were kept in a state of 
perpetual vibration between the extremes of tyranny and 

10 anarchy. If they exhibit occasional calms, these only serve 
as short-lived contrasts to the furious storms that are to 
succeed. If now and then intervals open to view, we be- 
hold them with a mixture of regret, arising from the reflec- 
tion that the pleasing scenes before us are soon to be over- 

15 whelmed by the tempestuous waves of sedition and party 
rage. If momentary rays of glory break forth from the 
gloom, while they dazzle us with a transient and fleeting 



ALEXANDER HAMILTON 47 

brilliancy, they at the same time admonish us to lament 
that the vices of government should pervert the direction 
and tarnish the lustre of those bright talents and exalted 20 
endowments for which the favored souls that produced 
them have been so justly celebrated. 

From the disorders that disfigure the annals of those 
republics the advocates of despotism have drawn arguments, 
not only against the forms of republican government, but 25 
against the very principles of civil liberty. They have 
decried all free government as inconsistent with the order 
of society, and have indulged themselves in malicious exul- 
tation over its friends and partisans. Happily for man- 
kind, stupendous fabrics reared on the basis of liberty, 30 
which have flourished for ages, have, in a few glorious in- 
stances, refuted their gloomy sophisms. And, I trust, 
America will be the broad and solid foundation of other 
edifices, not less magnificent, which will be equally perma- 
nent monuments of their errors. 35 

But it is not to be denied that the portraits they have 
sketched of republican government were too just copies of 
the originals from which they were taken. If it had been 
found impracticable to have devised models of a more per- 
fect structure, the enlightened friends to liberty would have 40 
been obliged to abandon the cause of that species of govern- 
ment as indefensible. The science of politics, however, like 
most other sciences, has received great improvement. The 
efficacy of various principles is now well understood, which 
were either not known at all, or imperfectly known to the 45 
ancients. The regular distribution of power into distinct 
departments; the institution of courts composed of judges 
holding their offices during good behaviour ; the representa- 
tion of the people in the legislature by deputies of their 
own election: these are wholly new discoveries, or have 50 
made their principal progress towards perfection in modern 



48 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

times. They are means, and powerful means, by which the 
excellences of republican government may be retained and 
its imperfections lessened or avoided. To this catalogue of 

55 circumstances that tend to the amelioration of popular sys- 
tems of civil government, I shall venture, however it may 
appear to some, to add one more, on a principle which has 
been made the foundation of an objection to the new Con- 
stitution ; I mean the enlargement of the orbit within 

60 which such systems are to revolve, either in respect to the 
dimensions of a single State, or to the consolidation of sev- 
eral smaller States into one great Confederacy. The latter 
is that which immediately concerns the object under consid- 
eration. It will, however, be of use to examine the princi- 

65 pie in its application to a single State, which shall be 
attended to in another place. 

The utility of a Confederacy as well to suppress fac- 
tion and to guard the internal tranquillity of states, as to 
increase their external force and security, is in reality not a 

70 new idea. It has been practised upon in different countries 
and ages, and has received the sanction of the most ap- 
proved writers on the subject of politics. The opponents 
of the plan proposed have, with great assiduity, cited and 
circulated the observations of Montesquieu on the necessity 

75 of contracted territory for a republican government. But 
they seem not to have been apprised of the sentiments of 
that great man expressed in another part of his work, nor 
to have adverted to the consequences of the principle to 
which they subscribe with such ready acquiescence. 

80 When Montesquieu recommends a small extent for re- 
publics, the standards he had in view were of dimensions 
far short of the limits of almost every one of these States. 
Neither Virginia, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New York, 
North Carolina, nor Georgia can by any means be com- 

85 pared with the models from which he reasoned and to 



JOHN WOOLMAN 49 

which the terms of his description apply. If we therefore 
take his ideas on this point as the criterion of truth, we 
shall be driven to the alternative either of 1:aking refuge at 
once in the arms of monarchy, or of splitting ourselves into 
an infinity of little, jealous, clashing, tumultuous common- 90 
wealths, the wretched nurseries of unceasing discord, and 
the miserable objects of universal pity or contempt. Some 
of the writers who have come forward on the other side of 
the question seem to have been aware of the dilemma ; and 
have even been bold enough to hint at the division of the 95 
larger States as a desirable thing. Such an infatuated 
policy, such a desperate expedient, might, by the multipli- 
cation of petty officers, answer the views of men who 
possess not qualifications to extend their influence beyond 
the narrow circles of personal intrigue, but it could never 100 
promote the greatness or happiness of the people of 
America. 

JOHN WOOLMAN 

An Anti-slavery Mission 

{From his Journal) 

As the people in this and the southern provinces live 
much on the labor of slaves, many of whom are used 
hardly, my concern was, that I might attend with singleness 
of heart to the voice of the true Shepherd, and be so 
supported as to remain unmoved at the faces of men. 5 

As it is common for Friends on such a visit to have enter- 
tainment free of cost, a difficulty arose in my mind with 
respect to saving my money by kindness received, which to 
me appeared to be the gain of oppression. 

Eeceiving a gift, considered as a gift, brings the receiver 10 
under obligations to the benefactor, and has a natural ten- 
dency to draw the obliged into a party with the giver. To 



50 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

prevent difficulties of this kind, and to preserve the minds 
of judges from any bias, was that Divine prohibition; 

15 " Thou shalt no*l receive any gift ; for a gift blindeth the 
wise, and perverteth the words of the righteous." As the 
disciples were sent forth without any provision for their 
journey, and our Lord said the workman is worthy of his 
meat, their labor in the Gospel was considered as a reward 

20 for their entertainment, and therefore not received as a 
gift; yet, in regard to my present journey, I could not see 
my way clear in that respect. The difference appeared 
thus : The entertainment the disciples met with, was from 
such whose hearts God had opened to receive them, from a 

25 love to them, and the truth they published. But we, con- 
sidered as members of the same religious Society, look upon 
it as a piece of civility to receive each other in such visits ; 
and such reception, at times, is partly in regard to reputa- 
tion, and not from an inward unity of heart and spirit. 

30 Conduct is more convincing than language ; and where 
people, by their actions, manifest that the slave-trade is 
not so disagreeable to their principles but that it may be 
encouraged, there is not a sound uniting with some Friends 
who visit them. 

35 The prospect of so weighty a work, and being so distin- 
guished from many whom I esteemed before myself, brought 
me very low ; and such were the conflicts of my soul, that 
I had a near sympathy with the prophet, in the time of his 
weakness, when he said, " If thou deal thus with me, kill 

40 me, I pray thee, if I have found favor in thy sight " ; but I 
soon saw that this proceeded from the want of a full resig- 
nation to the Divine will. Many were the afflictions which 
attended me ; and in great abasement, with many tears, my 
cries were to the Almighty, for his gracious and fatherly 

45 assistance ; and then, after a time of deep trial, I was 
favored to understand the state mentioned by the Psalmist, 



JOHN WOOLMAN 51 

more clearly than ever I had before ; to wit : " My soul is 
even as a weaned child."' Being thus helped to sink down 
into resignation, I felt a deliverance from that tempest in 
which I had been sorely exercised, and in calmness of mind 50 
went forward, trusting that the Lord Jesus Christ, as I 
faithfully attended to him, would be a counsellor to me in 
all difficulties ; and that by his strength I should be enabled 
even to leave money with the members of Society where I 
had entertainment, when I found that omitting it would ob- 55 
struct that work to which I believed he had called me. 
And as I copy this after my return, I may add, that often- 
times I did so, under a sense of duty. The way in which I 
did it was this; when I expected soon to leave a Friend's 
house where I had had entertainment, if I believed that 1 60 
should not keep clear from the gains of oppression without 
leaving money, I spoke to one of the heads of the family 
privately, and desired him to accept of some pieces of silver, 
and give them to such of the negroes as he believed would 
make the best use of them ; and at other times I gave them 65 
to the negroes myself, as the way looked clearest to me. 
As I expected this before I came out, I had provided a large 
number of small pieces; and thus offering them to some 
who appeared to be wealthy people, was a trial both to me 
and them : but the fear of the Lord so covered me at times, 70 
that my way was made easier than I expected ; and few, if 
any, manifested any resentment at the offer, and most of 
them, after some talk, accepted of them. 

The 7th day of the fifth month, in the year 1757, 1 lodged 
at a Friend's house, who putting us a little on our way, I 75 
had conversation with him in the fear of the Lord, concern- 
ing his slaves; in which my heart was tender, and I used 
much plainness of speech with him, which he appeared to 
take kindly. We pursued our journey without appointing 
meetings, being pressed in my mind to be at the Yearly 80 



52 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Meeting in Virginia. In my travelling on the road, I often 
felt a cry rising from the center of my mind, Lord, I am 
a stranger on the earth, hide not thy face from me. On the 
11th day of the fifth month, we crossed the rivers Potomac 
85 and Rappahannock, and lodged at Port Royal : and on the 
way we happening in company with a colonel of the militia, • 
who appeared to be a thoughtful man, I took occasion to 
remark on the difference in general between a people used 
to labor moderately for their living, training up their chil- 
90 dren in frugality and business, and those who live on the 
labor of slaves; the former, in my view, being the most 
happy life : with which he concurred, and mentioned the 
trouble arising from the untoward, slothful disposition of 
the negroes ; adding, that one of our laborers would do as 

95 much in a day as two of their slaves. I replied, that free 
men, whose minds were properly on their business, found 
a satisfaction in improving, cultivating, and providing for 
their families ; but negroes, laboring to support others, who 
claim them as their property, and expecting nothing but 

100 slavery during life, had not the like inducement to be in- 
dustrious. 

After some further conversation, I said that men having 
power, too often misapplied it ; that though we made slaves 
of the negroes, and the Turks made slaves of the Christians, 

105 1 believed that liberty was the natural right of all men 
equally ; which he did not deny ; but said the lives of the 
negroes were so wretched in their own country, that many 
of them lived better here than there. I only said there is 
great odds in regard to us, on what principle we act ; and 

110 so the conversation on that subject ended. I may here add, 
that another person, some time afterward, mentioned the 
wretchedness of the negroes, occasioned by their intestine 
wars, as an argument in favor of our fetching them away 
as slaves ; to which I then replied, if compassion on the 



FRANCIS HOPKINSON 53 

Africans, in regard to their domestic troubles, were the 115 
real motives of our purchasing them, that S2:)irit of tender- 
ness being attended to, would incite us to use them kindly, 
that as strangers brought out of affliction, their lives might 
be happy among us ; and as they are human creatures, 
whose souls are as precious as ours, and who may receive 120 
the same help and comfort from the holy Scriptures as we 
do, we could not omit suitable endeavors to instruct them 
therein. But while we manifest by our conduct, that our 
views in purchasing them are to advance ourselves; and 
while our buying captives taken in war, animates those 125 
parties to push on that war, and increase desolation amongst 
them ; to say they live unhappily in Africa, is far from 
being an argument in our favor. I further said, the present 
circumstances of these provinces to me appear difficult; the 
slaves look like a burthensome stone to such who burthen 130 
themselves with them, and that if the white people retain a 
resolution to prefer their outward prospects of gain to all 
other considerations, and do not act conscientiously toward 
them as fellow-creatures, I believe that burthen will grow 
heavier and heavier, until times change in a way disagree- 135 
able to us. At this the person appeared very serious, and 
owned, that in considering their condition, and the manner 
of their treatment in these provinces, he had sometimes 
thought it might be just in the Almighty so to order it. 



FRANCIS HOPKINSON 

{Fmm The Battle of the Kegs) 

Gallants attend and hear a friend 
Trill forth harmonious ditty, 

Strange things I'll tell which late befell 
In Philadelphia cit3\ 



54 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

5 'Twas early day, as poets say, 

Just when the sun was rising, 

A soldier stood on a log of wood. 

And saw a thing surprising. 

As in amaze he stood to gaze, 
10 The truth can't be denied, sir. 

He spied a score of kegs or more 
Come floating down the tide, sir. 

A sailor too in jerkin blue, 

This strange appearance viewing, 
15 First damn'd his eyes, in great surprise, 

Then said some mischief's brewing. 

These kegs, I'm told, the rebels bold, 

Pack'd up like pickling herring ; 
And they're come down t'attack the town, 
20 In this new way of ferrying. 

The soldier flew, the sailor too, 
And scar'd almost to death, sir. 

Wore out their shoes, to spread the news, 
And ran till out of breath, sir. 

25 Now up and down throughout the town. 

Most frantic scenes were acted; 
And some ran here, and others there, 
Like men almost distracted. 



" Arise, arise," sir Erskine cries, 
30 " The rebels — more's the pity, 

Without a boat are all afloat, 
And rang'd before the city. 

" The motley crew, in vessels new, 
With Satan for their guide, sir, 
35 Pack'd up in bags, or wooden kegs, 

Come driving down the tide, sir. 



FRANCIS HOPKINSON 55 

" Therefore prepare for bloody war, 

These kegs must all be routed, 
Or surely we despised shall be. 

And British courage doubted." 40 

The royal band, now ready stand 

All raiig'd in dread array, sir, 
With stomach stout to see it out. 

And make a bloody day, sir. 

The cannons roar from shore to shore, 45 

The small arms make a rattle ; 
Since wars began I'm sure no man 

E'er saw so strange a battle. 

The rebel dales, the rebel vales. 

With rebel trees surrounded; 50 

The distant wood, the hills and floods, 

With rebel echoes sounded. 

The fish below swam to and fro, 

Attack'd from ev'ry quarter; 
Why sure, thought they, the devil's to pay, 55 

'Mongst folks above the water. 

The kegs, 'tis said, tho' strongly made. 

Of rebel staves and hoops, sir, 
Could not oppose their powerful foes. 

The conqu'ring British troops, sir. 60 

From morn to night these men of might 

Display'd amazing courage; 
And when the sun was fairly down, 

Retir'd to sup their porrage. 

An hundred men with each a pen, 65 

Or more upon my word, sir, 
It is most true would be too few, 

Their valour to record, sir. 



56 AMERICAN LITERATURE . 

Such feats did they perforin that day, 
70 Against these wick'd kegs, sir, 

That years to come, if they get home. 
They'll make their boasts and brags, sir. 



ANONYMOUS REVOLUTIONARY SONGS 

Paul Jones 

A song unto Liberty's brave Buccaneer, 

Ever bright be tlie fame of the patriot Rover, 
For our rights he first fought in his " black privateer," 
And faced the proud foe ere our sea they cross'd over, 
5 In their channel and coast. 

He scattered their host. 
And proud Britain robbed of her sea-ruling boast. 
And her rich merchants' barks shunned the ocean in fear 
Of Paul. Jones, fair Liberty's brave Buccaneer. 

10 In the first fleet that sailed in defence of our laud, 

Paul Jones forward stood to defend freedom's arbor. 
He led the bold Alfred at Hopkins' command, 

And drove the fierce foeman from Providence harbor, 
'Twas his hand that raised 
15 The first flag that blazed, 

And his 'deeds 'neath the "Pine tree" all ocean amaz'd, 

For hundreds of foes met a watery bier 

From Paul Jones, fair Liberty's brave Buccaneer. 

His arm crushed the Tory and mutinous crew 
20 That strove to have freemen inhumanly butchered; 

Remembered his valor at proud Flamborough, 

When he made the bold Serapis strike to the Richard; 
Oh ! he robbed of their store 
The vessels sent o'er 
25 To feed all the Tories and foes on our shore. 

He gave freemen the spoils and long may they revere 
The name of fair Liberty's brave Buccaneer. 



ANONYMOUS REVOLUTIONARY SONGS 57 



The Riflemen's Song at Bennington 

Why come ye hither, strauger? 

Your mind what madness fills ? 
In our valleys there is danger, 

And danger on our hills ! 
Hear ye not the singing 5 

Of the bugle, wild and free ? 
Full soon ye'll know the ringing 

Of the rifle from the tree ! 
The rifle, the sharp rifle ! 
In our hands it is no trifle ! 10 



Ye ride a goodly steed; 

He may know another master : 
Ye forward come with speed, 

But ye'll learn to back much faster. 
When ye meet our mountain boys 15 

And their leader, Johnny Stark ! 
Lads who make but little noise, 

But who always hit the mark 
AVith the rifle, the true rifle ! 
In their hands will prove no trifle ! 20 



Had ye no graves at home 

Across the briny water, 
That hither ye must come, 

Like bullocks to the slaughter ? 
If we the work must do, 25 

Why, the sooner 'tis begun. 
If flint and trigger hold but true, 

The quicker 'twill be done 
By the rifle, the good rifle ! 
In our hands it is no trifle ! 30 



58 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

TIMOTHY DWIGHT 

Columbia 

Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise. 
The queen of the world, and child of the skies! 
Thy genius commands thee ; with raptures behold, 
While ages on ages thy splendours unfold. 
5 Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time. 

Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime. 
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name, 
Be freedom, and science, and virtue, thy fame. 
To conquest, and slaughter, let Europe aspire, 

10 Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire. 

Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, 
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend. 
A world is thy realm : for a world be thy laws, 
Enlarg'd as thine empire, and just as thy cause ; 

15 On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise. 

Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies. 

Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar. 
And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her star. 
New bards, and new sages, unrival'd shall soar 

20 To fame, unextinguish'd, when time is no more ; 

To thee, the last refuge of virtue design'd. 
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind ; 
Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring 
Their incense, more fragrant than odours of spring. 

25 Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend. 

And Genius and Beauty in harmony blend ; 
The graces of form shall awake pure desire. 
And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire ; 
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refin'd, 

30 And Virtue's bright image, instamp'd on the mind. 

With peace, and soft rapture, shall teach life to glow. 
And light up a smile in the aspect of woe. 

Thy fleets to all nations thy pow'r shall display, 
The nations admire, and the ocean obey ; 



JOHN TRUMBULL 59 

Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, 35 

And the east and ttie south yield their spices and gold. 

As the day-spring unbounded, thy splendour shall flow, 

And earth's little kingdoms before thee shall bow; 

While the ensigns of union, in triumph unfurl'd, 

Hush the tumult of war, and give peace to the world. 40 

Thus, as down a lone valley, with cedars o'erspread, 
From war's dread confusion I pensively stray'd — 
The gloom from the face of fair heav'n retired ; 
The winds ceas'd to murmur; the thunders expir'd ; 
Perfumes, as of Eden, flow'd sweetly along, 45 

And a voice, as of angels, enchantiiigly sung : 
" Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise. 
The queen of the world, and the child of the skies." 



JOHN TRUMBULL 

McFingal's Sentence 

{From McFingal, Canto III) 

Meanwhile beside the pole, the guard . 

A Bench of Justice had prepared. 

Where sitting round in awful sort 

The grand Committee held their Court; 

Wliile all the crew, in silent awe, 5 

Wait from their lips the lore of law. 

Few moments with deliberation 

They hold the solemn consultation ; 

When soon in judgment all agree. 

And Clerk proclaims the dread decree; 10 

" That 'Squire McFingal having grown 

The vilest Tory in the town. 

And now in full examination 

Convicted by his own confession. 

Finding no tokens of repentance, 

This Court proceeds to render sentence : 



60 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

That first the Mob a slip-knot single 
Tie round the neck of said McFitigal, 
And in due form do tar hitn next, 
20 And feather, as the law directs ; 

Then through the town attendant ride him, 
In cart with Constable beside him. 
And having held him up to shame. 
Bring to the pole, from whence he came." 



McFingal's Flight 

{Fro7n McFingal, Canto IV) 

McFingal deem'd it vain to stay, 
And risk his bones in second fray : 
But chose a grand retreat from foes. 
In literal sense, be?ieath their nose. 
5 The window then, which none else knew, 

He softly open'd and crept through. 
And crawling slow in deadly fear, 
By movements wise made good his rear. 
Then ^corning all the fame of martyr, 

10 For Boston took his swift departure. 

Nor looked back on the fatal spot. 
More than the family of Lot. 
Not North in more distress'd condition, 
Out-voted first by opposition ; 

15 Nor good King George, when our dire phantom 

Of Independence came to haunt him, 
Which hovering round by night and day. 
Not all his conj'rors e'er could lay. 
His friends, assembled for his sake, 

20 He wisely left in pawn, at stake, 

To tarring, feath'ring, kicks and drubs 
Of furious, disappointed mobs, 
Or with their forfeit heads to pay 
For him, their leader, crept away. 



JOEL BARLOW 61 

So when wise Noah summon'd greeting, 25 

All animals to gen'ral meeting, 

From every side the members went. 

All kinds of beasts to represent ; 

Each, from the flood, took care t'embark, 

And save his carcase in the ark : 30 

But as it fares in state and church, 

Left his constituents in the lurch. 



JOEL BARLOW 
Washington to his Troops 
{From The Vision of Columbus, Book V) 

In front great Washington exalted shone. 
His eye directed tow'rd the half-seen sun ; 
As through the mist the bursting splendors glow. 
And light the passage to the distant foe. 

His waving steel returns the living day, 5 

Clears the broad plains, and marks the warrior's way ; 
The forming columns range in order bright. 
And move impatient for the promis'd fight. 

When great Columbus saw the chief arise. 
And his bold blade cast lightning on the skies, 10 

He trac'd the form that met his view before. 
On drear Ohio's desolated shore. 
Matur'd with years, with nobler glory warm, 
Fate in his eye, and vengeance on his arm, 

The great observer here with joy beheld 15 

The hero moving in a broader field. 



While other chiefs and heirs of deathless fame 

Rise into sight, and equal honors claim ; 

But w^ho can tell the dew-drops of the morn ? 

Or count the rays that in the diamond burn? 20 



62 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Now, the broad field as untry'd warriors shade, 
The sun's glad beam their shining ranks display'd; 
The glorious Leader wav'd his glittering steel, 
Bade the long train in circling order wheel ; 

25 And, while the banner'd host around him press'd, 

With patriot ardour thus the ranks address'd : — 

" Ye generous bands, behold the task to save, 
Or yield whole nations to an instant grave. 
See headlong myriads crowding to your shore, 

30 Hear, from all ports, their boasted thunders roar ; 

From Charlestown-heights their bloody standards play, 
O'er far Champlain they lead their northern way, 
Virginian banks behold their streamers glide. 
And hostile navies load each southern tide. 

35 Beneath their ships your towns in ashes lie, 

Your inland empires feast their greedy eye ; 
Soon shall your fields to lordly parks be turn'd, 
Your children butcher'd, and your villas burn'd; 
While following millions, thro' the reign of time, 

40 Who claim their birth in this indulgent clime. 

Bend the weak knee, to servile toils consign'd, 
And sloth and slavery overwhelm mankind. 
Rise then to war, to noble vengeance rise, 
Ere the grey sire, the hapless infant dies ; 

45 Look thro' the world where endless years descend, 

What realms, what ages on your arms depend ! 
Reverse the fate, avenge th' insulted sky ; 
Move to the strife — we conquer or we die." 
So spoke the chief ; and with his guiding hand 

50 Points the quick toil to each surrounding band. 

At once the different lines are wheeled afar, 
In different realms, to meet the gathering war. 



THOMAS GODFREY 63 

THOMAS GODFREY 
Song 

For CJiloris long I sigh'd in vain, 

Nor could her bosom move, 
She met my vows with cold disdain, 

And scorn returned for Love. 
At length, grown weary of her pride, 

I left the haughty Maid, 
Corlnna's fetters now I try'd. 

Who love for love repaid. 



With her the pleasing hours I waste. 

With her such joys I prove, 10 

As kindred Souls alone can taste, 

When join'd in mutual Love. 
Ye Shepherds hear, not slight my strain, 

Fly, fly the scornful Fair, 
Kind Nymphs you'll find to ease your pain, 15 

And soften ev'ry care. 



When in Celiacs Heavenly Eye 

When in Cello's heavenly Eye 
Soft inviting Love I spy, 
Tho' you say 'tis all a cheat, 
I must clasp .the dear deceit. 



Why should I more knowledge gain, 
When it only gives me pain ? 
If deceived I'm still at rest. 
In the sweet delusion blest. 



64 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

{From The Prince of Parthia) 
Act V, Scene I 

The Palace 

The Curtain rises, slowly, to soft music, and discovers Evanthe 
sleeping on a Sofa; after the music ceases, Vardanes enters. 
Vardanes. Now shining Empire standing at the goal, 

Beck'ns me forward to increase my speed ; 
5 But, yet, Arsaces lives, bane to my hopes, 

Lysias I'll. urge to ease me of his life. 

Then give the villain up to punishment. 

The shew of justice gains the changeling croud. 

Besides, I ne'er will harbour in my bosom 
10 Such serpents, ever ready with their stings — 

But now one hour for love and fair Evanthe — 

Hence with ambition's cares — see, where reclin'd, 

In slumbers all her sorrows are dismiss'd. 

Sleep seems to heighten ev'ry beauteous feature, 
15 And adds peculiar softness to each grace. 

She weeps — in dreams some lively sorrow pains her — 

I'll take one kiss — oh ! what a balmy sweetness! 

Give me another — and another still — 

For ever thus I'd dwell upon her lips. 
20 Be still my heart, and calm unruly transports. — 

Wake her, with music, from this mimic death. [Music sounds.] 

Song 

Tell' me, Phillis, tell me why, 

You appear so wond'rous coy. 
When that glow, and sparkling eye, 
25 Speak you want to taste the joy ? 

Prithee give this fooling 'o'er. 
Nor torment your lover more. 

AVhile youth is warm within our veins. 
And nature tempts us to be gay, 
30 Give to pleasure loose the reins, 

Love and youth fly swift away. 



THOMAS GODFREY 65 



Youth in pleasure should be spent, 
Age will come, we'll then repent. 



EvANTHE (waking) I come ye lovely shades — Ha! am I here? 
Still in the tyrant's palace? Ye bright pow'rs ! 35 

Are all my blessings then but vis'onary? 
Methought I was arriv'd on that blest shore 
Where happy souls for ever dwell, crown'd with 
Immortal bliss; Arsaces led me through 

The flow'ry groves, while all around me gleam'd 40 

Thousand and thousand shades, who vvelcom'd me 
With pleasing songs of joy — Vardanes, ha! — 

Vardanes. Why beams the angry lightning of thine eye 
Against thy sighing slave? Is love a crime? 

Oh ! if to dote, with such excess of passion 45 

As rises e'en to mad extravagance 
Is criminal, I then am so, indeed, 

EvANTHE. Away ! vile man ! — 

Vardanes. • If to pursue thee e'er 

With all the humblest offices of love, 50 

If ne'er to know one single thought that does 
Not bear thy bright idea, merits scorn — 

EvANTHE. Hence from my sight — nor let me, thus, pollute 
Mine eyes, with looking on a wretch like thee. 

Thou cause of all my ills ; I sicken at 55 

Thy loathsome presence — 

Vardanes. 'Tis not always thus, 

Nor dost thou ever meet the sounds of love 
With rage and fierce disdain : Arsaces, soon. 
Could smooth thy brow, and melt thy icy breast. 60 

Evanthe. Ha ! does it gall thee ? Yes, he could, he could ; 
Oh ! when he speaks, such sweetness dwells upon 
His accents, all my soul dissolves to love, 
And warm desire ; such truth and beauty join'd I 
His looks are soft and kind, such gentleness 05 

Such virtue swells his bosom ! in his eye 
Sits majesty, commanding ev'ry heart. 
Strait as the pine, the pride of all the grove, 



66 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

More blooming than the spring, and sweeter far, 
70 Than asphodels or roses infant sweets. 

Oh! I could dwell forever on his praise. 

Yet think eternity was scarce enough 

To tell the mighty theme ; here in my breast 

His image dwells, but one dear thought of him, 
75 When fancy paints his Person to my eye, 

As he was wont in tenderness dissolv'd, 

Sighing his vows, or kneeling at my feet, 

Wipes off all mem'ry of my wretchedness. 

Vardaxes. I know this brav'ry is affected, yet 
80 It gives me joy, to think my rival only 

Can in imagination taste thy beauties. 

Let him, — 'twill ease him in his solitude. 

And gild the horrors of his prison-house. 

Till death shall — 
85 EvANTHE. Ha! what was that? till death — ye Gods 1 

Ah, now I feel distress's tort'ring pang — 

Thou canst not villain — darst not think his death — 

O mis'ry ! — 

Vardanes. Naught but your kindness saves him, 
90 Yet bless me with your love, and he is safe; 

But the same frown which kills my growing hopes, 

Gives him to death. 



CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 

A Mysterious Voice 

(From Wieland, Chap. IX) 

T returned to the closet, and once more put my hand upon 
the lock. Oh, may my ears lose their sensibility ere they 
be again assailed by a shriek so terrible 1 Not merely my 
understanding was subdued by the sound ; it acted on my 
5 nerves like an edge of steel. It appeared to cut asunder 
the fibres of my brain and rack every joint with agony. 



CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 67 

The cry, loud and ])iercing as it was, was nevertheless 
human. No articulation was ever more distinct. The 
breath which accompanied it did not fan my hair, yet did 
every circumstance combine to persuade me that the lips lo 
which uttered it touched my very shoulder. 

'' Hold ! hold ! " were the words of this tremendous pro- 
hibition, in whose tone the whole soul seemed to be wrapped 
up, and every energy converted into eagerness and terror. 

Shuddering, I dashed myself against the wall, and, by 15 
the same involuntary impulse, turned my face backward to 
examine the mysterious monitor. The moonlight streamed 
into each window, and every corner of the room was con- 
spicuous, and yet I beheld nothing! 

The interval was too brief to be artificially measured, be- 20 
tween the utterance of these words and my scrutiny directed 
to the quarter whence they came. Yet, if a human being 
had been there, could he fail to have been visible ? Which 
of my senses was the prey of a fatal illusion ? The shock 
which the sound produced was still felt in every part of my 25 
frame. The sound, therefore, could not but be a genuine 
commotion. But that I had heard it was not more true 
than that the being who uttered it was stationed at my 
right ear ; yet my attendant was invisible. 

I cannot describe the state of my thoughts at that 30 
moment. Surprise had mastered my faculties. My frame 
shook, and the vital current was congealed. I was conscious 
only to the vehemence of my sensations. This condition 
could not be lasting. Like a tide, which suddenly mounts to 
an overwhelming height and then gradually subsides, my 35 
confusion slowly gave place to order, and my tumults to a 
calm. I was able to deliberate and move. I resumed my 
feet, and advanced into the midst of the room. Upward, 
and behind, and on each side, I threw penetrating glances. 
I was not satisfied with one examination. He that hitherto 40 



68 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

refused to be seen might change his purpose, and on the 
next survey be clearly distinguishable. 

Solitude imposes least restraint upon the fancy. Dark is 
less fertile of images than the feeble lustre of the moon. I 

45 was alone, and the walls were checkered by shadowy forms. 
As the moon passed behind a cloud and emerged, these 
shadows seemed to be endowed with life, and to move. 
The apartment was open to the breeze, and the curtain was 
occasionally blown from its ordinary position. This motion 

50 was not unaccompanied with sound. I failed not to snatch 
a look and to listen when this motion and this sound 
occurred. My -belief that my monitor was posted near was 
strong, and instantly converted these appearances to tokens 
of his presence ; and yet I could discern nothing. 



PHILIP FRENEAU 

A Political Litany 

Libera nos, Domine — Deliver us, O Lord, 
Not only from British dependence, but also, 

From a junto that labor for absolute power, 
Whose schemes disappointed have made them look sour ; 
5 From the lords of the council, who fight against freedom 

Who still follow on where delusion shall lead 'em. 

From groups at Saint eJames's who slight our Petitions, 
And fools that are waiting for further submissions ; 
From a nation whose manners are rough and abrupt, 
10 From scoundrels and rascals whom gold can corrupt. 

From pirates sent out by command of the king 
To murder and phmder,but never to swing; 
From Wallace, and Graves, and Vipors, and Roses, 
Whom, if Heaven pleases, we'll give bloody noses. 



PHILIP FRENEAU 69 

From the valiant Duinuore, with his crew of banditti 15 

Who plunder Virginians at Williamsburg city, 
From hot-headed Montague, mighty to swear, 
The little fat man with his pretty white hair. 

From bishops in Britain, who butchers are grown, 
From slaves that would die for a smile from the throne, 20 

From assemblies that vote against Congress' proceedings 
(Who now see the fruit of their stupid, misleadings). 

From Tryon, the mighty, who flies from our city, 

And swelled with importance, disdains the committee 

(But since he is pleased to proclaim us his foes, 25 

What the devil care we where the devil he goes). 

From the caitiff, Lord North, who would bind us in chains. 

From our noble King Log, with his toothful of brains, 

Who dreams, and is certain (when taking a nap). 

He has conquered our lands as they lay on his map. 30 

From a kingdom that bullies, and hectors, and swears, 
I send up to Heaven my wishes and prayers 
That we, disunited, may freemen be still. 
And Britain go on — to be damn'd if she will. 

Eutaw Springs 

At Eutaw Springs the valiant died ; 

Their limbs with dust are covered o'er — 
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide ; 

How many heroes are no more ! 

If in this wreck of ruin, they 5 

Can yet be thought to claim a tear, 
O smite your gentle breast, and say 

The friends of freedom slumber here ! 

Thou, who shalt trace this bloody plain, 

If goodness rules thy generous breast, 10 

Sigh for the wasted rural reign ; 

Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest ! 



70 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Stranger, their humble graves adorn; 
You too may fall, and ask a tear ; 
15 'Tis not the beauty of the inoru 

That proves the evening shall be clear. — 

They sav^^ their injured country's woe ; 
The flaming town, the wasted field ; 
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe ; 
20 They took the spear — but left the shield. 

Led by thy conquering genius, Greene, 
Tlie Britons they compelled to fly ; 

None distant viewed the fatal plain. 
None grieved, in such a cause to die — 

25 But, like the Parthian, famed of old. 

Who, flying, still their arrows threw, 
These routed Britons, full as bold, 
Retreated, and retreating slew. 

Now rest in peace, our patriot band ; 
30 Though far from nature's limits thrown, 

We trust they find a happier land, 
A brighter sunshine of their own. 

The Wild Honey Suckle 

Fair flower, that dost so comely grow, 
Hid in this silent, dull retreat, 
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow, 
Unseen thy little branches greet : 
5 No roving foot shall crush thee here, 

No busy hand provoke a tear. 

By Nature's self in white arrayed, 
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye, 
And planted here the guardian shade, 
10 And sent soft waters murmuring by ; 

Thus quietly thy summer goes. 
Thy days declining to repose. 



PHILIP FRENEAU 71 

Smit with those charms, that must decay, 

I grieve to see yom* future doom ; 

They died — nor were those flowers more gay, 15 

The flowers that did in Eden bloom ; 

Unpitying frosts, and Autumn's power 

Shall leave no vestige of this flower. 

From morning suns and evening dews 

At first thy little being came : 20 

If nothing once, you nothing lose. 

For when you die you are the same ; 

The space between is but an hour, 

The frail duration of a flower. 



The Death Song of a Cherokee Indian 

The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, 
But glory remains when their lights fade away. 
Begin, ye tormentors : your threats are in vain 
For the son of Alknomock can never complain. 

Remember the woods, where in ambush he lay, 5 

And the scalps which he bore from your nation away ! 
Why do ye delay ? — 'till I shrink from my pain ? 
Know the son of Alknomock can never complain. 

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow, 

Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low, 10 

The flame rises high, you exult in my pain ? 

Know the son of Alknomock will never complain. 

I go to the land where my father is gone : 

His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son, 

Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain, 15 

And thy. son, O Alknomock, has scorned to complain. 



72 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

May to April 

Without your showers, I breed no flowers, 
Each field a barren waste appears ; 

If you don't weep, my blossoms sleep. 
They take such pleasures in your tears. 

5 As your decay made room for May, 

So I must part with all that's mine : 
My balmy breeze, my blooming trees 
To torrid suns their sweets resign ! 

O'er April dead, my shades I spread : 
10 To her I owe my dress so gay — 

Of daughters three, it falls on me 
To close our triumphs on one day ; 

Thus to repose, all Nature goes ; 

Month after month must find its doom: 
15 Time on the wing, May ends the Spring, 

And Summer dances on her tomb ! 



WASHINGTON IRVING 

The Character of Peter Stuyvesant 

{From Knickerbocker's History of New York, Book V, Chap. I) 

Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and, like the renowned 
Wouter Van Twiller, the best, of our ancient Dutch governors. 
Wouter having surpassed all who preceded him, and Peter, 
or Piet, as he was sociably called by the old Dutch burghers, 

5 who were ever proud to familiarize names, having never 
been equaled by any successor. He was in fact the man 
fitted by nature to retrieve the desperate fortunes of her 
beloved province, had not the fates, those most potent and 
unrelenting of all ancient spinsters, destined them to 

10 inextricable confusion. 



WASHINGTON IRVING * 73 

To say merely that he was a hero, would be doing him 
great injustice: he was in truth a combination^ of heroes; 
for he was of a sturdy, raw-boned make, like Ajax Telamon, 
with, a pair of round shoulders that Hercules would have 
given his hide for (meaning his lion's hide) when he 15 
undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, more- 
over, as Plutarch describes Ccriolanus, not only terrible for 
the force of his arm, but likewise of his voice, which 
sounded as though it came out of a barrel ; and, like the self- 
same warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for the 20 
sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough of 
itself to make the very bowels of his adversaries quake 
with terror and dismay. All this martial excellency of 
appearance was inexpressibly heightened by an accidental 
advantage, with which I am surprised that neither Homer 25 
nor Virgil have graced any of their heroes. This was 
nothing less than a wooden leg, which was the only prize he 
had gained in bravely fighting the battles of his country, 
but of which he was so proud, that he was often heard to 
declare he valued it more than all his other limbs put 30 
together ; indeed, so highly did he esteem it, that he had it 
gallantly enchased and relieved with silver devices, which 
caused it to be related in divers histories and legends that 
he wore a silver leg.^ 

Like that choleric warrior Achilles, he was somewhat 35 
subject to extempore bursts of passion, which were rather 
unpleasant to his favorites and attendants, whose percep- 
tions he was apt to quicken, after the manner of his illus- 
trious imitator, Peter the Great, by anointing their shoulders 
with his walking-staff. 40 

• Though I cannot find that he had read Plato, or Aristotle, 
or Hobbes, or Bacon, or Algernon Sydney, or Tom Paine, 

1 See the histories of Masters Josselyn and Blome. (Irving's note.) 



74 * AMERICAN LITERATURE 

yet did he sometimes manifest a shrewdness and sagacity 
in his measures, that one would hardly expect from a man 

45 who did not know Greek, and had* never studied the an- 
cients. True it is, and I confess it with sorrow, that he 
had an unreasonable aversion to experiments, and was fond 
of governing his province after the simplest manner; but 
then he contrived to keep it in better order than did the 

50 erudite Kieft, though he had all the philosophers, ancient 
and modern, to assist and perplex him. I must likewise 
own that he made but very few laws ; but then, again, he 
took care that those few were rigidly and impartially en- 
forced; and I do not know but justice, on the whole, was 

55 as well administered as if there had been volumes of sage 
acts and statutes yearly made, and daily neglected and for- 
gotten. 

He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predecessors, be- 
ing neither tranquil and inert, like Walter the Doubter, nor 

60 restless and fidgeting, like William the Testy, — but a man, 
or rather a governor, of such uncommon activity and de- 
cision of mind, that he never sought or accepted the advice 
of others, — depending bravely upon his single head, as 
would a hero of yore upon his single arm, to carry him 

65 through all difficulties and dangers. To tell the simple 
truth, he wanted nothing to complete him as a statesman 
than to think always right ; for no one can say but that he 
always acted as he thought. He was never a man to flinch 
when he found himself in a scrape, but to dash forward 

70 through thick and thin, trusting, by hook or by crook, to 
make all things straight in the end. In a word, he pos- 
sessed, in an eminent degree, that great quality in a states- 
man, called perseverance by the polite, but nicknamed 
obstinancy by the vulgar, — a wonderful salve for official 

75 blunders, since he who perseveres 'in error without flinch- 
ing gets the credit of boldness and consistency, while he 



WASHINGTON IRVING 75 

who wavers iiT seeking to do what is right gets stigmatized 
as a trimmer. This much is certain; and it is a maxim 
well worthy the attention of all legislators, great and small, 
who stand shaking in the wind, irresolute which way to 80 
steer, that a ruler who follows his own will pleases himself, 
while he who seeks to satisfy the wishes and whims of 
others runs great risk of pleasing nobody. There is noth- 
ing, too, like putting down one's foot resolutely when in 
doubt, and letting things take their course. The clock that 85 
stands still points right twice in the four-and-twenty hours, 
while others may keep going continuall}^ and be continually 
going wrong. 

Nor did this magnanimous quality escape the discern- 
ment of the good people of Nieuw Nederlands ; on the con- 90 
trary, so much were they struck with the independent will 
and vigorous resolution displayed on all occasions by their 
new governor, that they universally called him Hard-Koppig 
Piet, or Peter the Headstrong, — a great compliment to the 
strength of his understanding. 95 

If, from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy 
reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, 
weather-beaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion- 
hearted, generous-spirited old governor, either I have written 
to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing con- 100 
elusions. 



The Devil and Tom Walker 

{From Tales of a Traveler) 

A few miles from Boston in Massachusetts, there is a 
deep inlet, winding several miles into the interior of the 
country from Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly 
wooded swamp or morass. On one side of this inlet is a 
beautiful dark grove ; on the oppttsite side the land rises 5 



76 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

abruptly from the water's edge into a high ridge, on which 
grow a few scattered oaks of great age and immense size. 
Under one of these gigantic trees, according to old stories, 
there was a great amount of treasure buried by Kidd the 

10 pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money in 
a boat secretly and at night to the very foot of the hill ; 
the elevation of the place permitted a good look-out to be 
kept that no one was at hand ; while the remarkable trees 
formed good landmarks by which the place might easily be 

15 found again. The old stories add, moreover, that the devil 
presided at the hiding of the money, and took it under his 
guardianship ; but this, it is well known, he always does 
with buried treasure, particularly when it has been ill- 
gotten. Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover 

20 his wealth ; being shortly after seized at Boston, sent out 
to England, and there hanged for a pirate. 

About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes 
were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall 
sinners down upon their knees, there lived near this place a 

25 meagre, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom Walker. He 
had a wife as miserly as himself : they were so miserly that 
they even conspired to cheat each other. Whatever the 
woman could lay hands on, she hid away ; a hen could not 
cackle but she was on the alert to secure the new-laid egg. 

30 Her husband was continually prying about to detect her 
secret hoards, and many and fierce were the conflicts that 
took place about what ought to have been common property. 
They lived in a forlorn-looking house that stood alone, and 
had an air of starvation. A few straggling savin trees, 

35 emblems of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke ever curled 
from its chimney; no travelers stopped at its door. A 
miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate as the bars 
of a gridiron, stalked about a field, where a thin carpet of 
moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds of puddingstone, 



WASHINGTON IRVING 77 

tantalized and balked his hunger; and sometimes he would 40 
lean his head over the fence, look piteously at the passerby, 
and seem to petition deliverance from this land of famine. 

The house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. 
Tom's wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, loud of 
tongue, and strong of arm. Her voice was often heard in 45 
wordy warfare with her husband ; and his face sometimes 
showed signs that their conflicts were not confined to words. 
No one ventured, however, to interfere between them. The 
lonely wayfarer shrunk within himself at the horrid clamor 
and clapper-clawing ; eyed the den of discord askance ; and 50 
hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, in his celibacy. 

One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part of 
the neighborhood, he took what he considered a short cut 
homeward, through the swamp. Like most short cuts, it 
was an ill-chosen route. The swamp was thickly grown 55 
with great gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of them ninety 
feet high, which made it dark at noonday, and a retreat for 
all the owls of the neighborhood. It was full of pits and 
quagmires, partly covered with weeds and mosses, where 
the green surface often betrayed the traveler into a gulf of 60 
black, smothering mud : there were also dark and stagnant 
pools, the abode of the tadpole, the bull-frog, and the water- 
snake ; where the trunks of pines and hemlocks lay half- 
drowned, half-rotting, looking like alligators sleeping in the 
mire. 65 

Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through 
this treacherous forest ; stepping from tuft to tuft of rushes 
and roots, which afforded precarious footholds among deep 
sloughs ; or pacing carefully, like a cat, along the prostrate , 
trunks of trees ; startled now and then by the sudden 70 
screaming of the bittern, or the quacking of a wild duck 
rising on the wing from some solitary pool. At length he 
arrived at a piece of firm ground, which ran out like a penin- 



78 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

sula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It had been one 

75 of the strongholds of the Indians during their wars with the 
first colonists. Here they had thrown up a kind of fort, 
which they had looked upon as almost impregnable, and 
had used as a place of refuge for their squaws and children. 
Nothing remained of the old Indian fort but a few embank- 

80 ments, gradually sinking to the level of the surrounding 
earth, and already overgrown in part by oaks and other 
forest trees, the foliage of which formed a contrast to the 
dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp. 

It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker 

85 reached the old fort, and he paused there awhile to rest 
himself. Any one but he would have felt unwilling to 
linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the common 
people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories handed 
down from the time of the Indian wars ; when it was as- 

QOserted that the savages held incantations here, and made 
sacrifices to the evil spirit. 

Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled 
with any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for some 
time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening to the bod- 

95 ing cry of the tree-toad, and delving with his walking-staff 
into a mound of black mould at his feet. As he turned up 
the soil unconsciously, his staff struck against something 
hard. He raked it out of the vegetable mould, and lo ! a 
cloven skull, with an Indian tomahawk buried deep in it, 
100 lay before him. The rust on the weapon showed the time 
that had elapsed since this death-blow had been given. It 
was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that had taken 
place in this last foothold of the Indian warriors. 

" Humph ! " said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to 
105 shake the dirt from it. 

" Let that skull alone ! " said a gruff voice. Tom lifted 
up his eyes, and beheld a great black man seated directly 



WASHINGTON IRVING 79 

opposite him, on the stump of a tree. He was exceedingly 
surprised, having neither heard nor seen any one approach ; 
and he was still more perplexed on observing, as well as the no 
gathering gloom would permit, that the stranger was neither 
negro nor Indian. It is true he was dressed in a rude half 
Indian garb, and had a red belt or sash swathed round his 
body ; but his face was neither black nor copper-color, but 
swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with soot, as if he had us 
been accustomed to toil among fires and forges. He had a 
shock of coarse black hair, that stood out from his head in 
all directions, and bore an axe on his shoulder. 

He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great 
red eyes. 120 

" What are you doing on my grounds ? " said the black 
man, with a hoarse growling voice. 

" Your grounds ! " said Tom with a sneer ; " no more your 
grounds than mine ; they belong'to Deacon Peabody." 

" Deacon Peabody be d — d," said the stranger, " as I flat- 125 
ter myself he will be, if he does not look more to his own 
sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look yonder, and 
see how Deacon Peabody is faring." 

Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, and 
beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing without, but 130 
rotten at the core, and saw that it had been nearly hewn 
through, so that the first high wind was likely to blow it 
down. On the bark of the tree was scored the name of 
Deacon Peabody, an eminent man, who had waxed wealthy 
by driving shrewd bargains with the Indians. He now looked 135 
around, and found most of the tall trees marked with the 
name of some great man of the colony, and all more or less 
scored by the axe. The one on which he had been seated, 
and which had evidently just been hewn down, bore the 
name of Crowninshield ; and he recollected a mighty rich 140 
man of that name, who made a vulgar display of wealth. 



80 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

which it was whispered he had acquired by buccaneer- 
ing. 

" He's just ready for burning ! " said the black man, with 
145 a growl of triumph. " You see I am likely to have a good 
stock of firewood for winter." 

" But what right have you," said Tom, " to cut down 
Deacon Peabody's timber ? " 

'^ The right of a prior claim," said the other. " This wood- 
150 land belonged to me long before one of your whitefaced race 
put foot upon the soil." 

" And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold ? " said Tom. 

" Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild huntsman in 

some countries ; the blaclv miner in others. In this neigh- 

155 borhood I am known by the name of the black woodsman. 

I am he to whom the red men consecrated this spot, and in 

honor of whom they now and then roasted a white man, by 

way of sweet-smelling sacrifice. Since the red men have 

been exterminated by you white savages, I amuse myself by 

160 presiding at the persecutions of Quakers and Anabaptists ; 

I am the great patron and promoter of slave-dealers, and the 

grand-master of the Salem witches." 

" The upshot of all which is, if I mistake not," said Tom, 
sturdily, "you are he commonly called Old Scratch." 
165 " The same, at your service ! " replied the black man, with 
a half civil nod. 

Such was the opening of this interview, according to the 
old story ; though it has almost too familiar an air to be cred- 
ited. One would think that to meet with such a singular 
170 personage, in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any 
man's nerves ; but Tom was a hard-minded fellow, not easily 
daunted, and he had lived so long with a termagant wife that 
he did not even fear the devil. 

It is said that after this commencement they had a long 
175 and earnest conversation together, as Tom returned home- 



WASHINGTON IRVING 81 

ward. The black man told him of great sums of money 
buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak-trees on the high 
ridge, not far from the morass. All these were under his 
command, and protected by his power, so that none could 
find them but such as propitiated his favor. These he 180 
offered to place within Tom Walker's reach, having con- 
ceived an especial kindness for him ; but they were to be 
had only on certain conditions. What these conditions were 
may be easily surmised, though Tom never disclosed them 
publicly. They must have been very hard, for he required 185 
tinre to think of them, and he was not a man to stick at 
trifles when money was in view. W^hen they had reached 
the edge of the swamp, the stranger paused — " What proof 
have I that all you have been telling me is true ? " said Tom. 
" There's my signature," said the black man, pressing his 190 
finger on Tom's forehead. So saying, he turned off among 
the thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, to go 
down, down, down, into the earth, until nothing but his 
head and shoulders could be seen, and so on, until he totally 
disappeared. 195 

When Tom reached home he found the black print of a 
finger burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which nothing 
could obliterate. 

The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden 
death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It 200 
was announced in the papers with the usual flourish, that 
"A great man had fallen in Israel." 

Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had just 
hewn down, and which was ready for burning. " Let the 
freebooter roast," said Tom, " who cares ? " He now felt 205 
convinced that all he had heard and seen was no illusion. 

He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence ; but 
as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it with 
her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention of hid- 



82 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

» 

210 den gold, ^nd she urged her husband to comply with the 
black man's terms, and secure what would make them 
wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt disposed 
to sell himself to the Devil, he was determined not to do so 
to oblige his wife; so he flatly refused, out of the mere 

215 spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were the quarrels 
they had on the subject ; but the more she talked, the more 
resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. 

At length she determined to drive the bargain on her own 
account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the gain to herself. 

220 Being of the same fearless temper as her husband, she* set 
off for the old Indian fort towards the close of a summer's 
day. She was many hours absent. When she came back, 
she was reserved and sullen in her replies. She spoke 
something of a black man, whom she had met about twilight, 

225 hewing at the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, 
and would not come to terms : she was to go again with a 
propitiatory offering, but what it was she forebore to say. 

The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with 
her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, 

230 but in vain ; midnight came, but she did not make her ap- 
pearance : morning, noon, night returned, but still she did 
not' come. Tom now grew uneasy for her safety, especially 
as he found she had carried off in her apron the silver tea- 
pot and spoons, and every portable article of value. An- 

235 other night elapsed, another morning came; but no wife. 
In a word, she was never heard of more. 

What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence of 
so many pretending to know. It is one of those facts 
which have become confounded by a variety of historians. 

240 Some asserted that she lost her way among the tangled 
mazes of the swamp, and sank into some pit or slough; 
others, more uncharitable, hinted that she had eloped with 
the household booty, and made off to some other province ; 



WASHINGTON IRVING 83 

while others surmised that the tempter had decoyed her 
into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which her hat was 245 
found lying. In confirmation of this, it was said a great 
black man, with an axe on his shoulder, was seen late that 
very evening coming out of the swamp, carrying a^ bundle 
tied in a check apron, with an air of surly triumph. 

The most current and probable story, however, observes, 250 
that Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his wife 
and his property, that he set out at length to seek them 
both at the Indian fort. During a long summer's afternoon 
he searched about the gloomy place, but no wife was to be 
seen. He- called her name repeatedly, but she was nowhere 255 
to be heard. The bittern alone responded to his voice, as 
he flew screaming by ; or the bull-frog croaked dolefully 
from a neighboring pool. At length, it is said, just in the 
brown hour of twilight, when the owls began to hoot, and 
the bats to flit about, his attention was attracted by the 260 
clamor of carrion crows hovering about a cypress-tree. He 
looked up, and beheld a bundle tied in a check apron, and 
hanging in the branches of the tree, with a great vulture 
perched hard by, as if keeping watch upon it. He leaped 
with joy ; for he recognized his wife's apron, and supposed 265 
it to contain the household valuables. 

" Let us get hold of the property," said he consolingly to 
himself, ^'and we will endeavor to do without the woman." 

As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its wide 
wings, and sailed off screaming into the deep shadows of 270 
the forest. Tom seized the checked apron, but woeful 
sight ! found nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it ! 

Such, according to this most authentic old story, was all 
that was to be found of Tom's wife. She had probably at- 
tempted to deal with the black man as she had been accus- 275 
tomed to deal with her husband ; but though a female scold 
is generally considered a match for the devil, yet in this 



84 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

instance she appears to have had the worst of it. She must 
have died game, however ; for it is said Tom noticed many 

280 prints of cloven feet deeply stamped about the tree, and 

found handfuls of hair, that looked as if they had been 

plucked from the coarse black shock of the woodman. Tom 

knew his wife's prowess .by experience. He shrugged his 

. shoulders, as he looked at the signs of a fierce clapper-claw- 

285 ing. " Egad," said he to himself, " Old Scratch must have 
had a tough time of it ! " 

Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property, with 
the loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude. He 
even felt something like gratitude towards the black wood- 

290 man, who, he considered, had done him a kindness. He 
sought, therefore, to cultivate a further acquaintance with 
him, but for some time without success ; the old black-legs 
played shy, for whatever people may think, he is not always 
to be had for calling for : he knows how to play his cards 

295 when pretty sure of his game. 

At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's 
eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to any- 
thing rather than not gain the promised treasure, he met 
the black man one evening in his usual woodman's dress, 

300 with his axe on his shoulder, sauntering along the swamp, 
and humming a tune. He affected to receive Tom's ad- 
vances with great indifference, made brief replies, and went 
on humming his tune. 

By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, and 

305 they began to haggle about the terms on which the former 
was to have the pirate's treasure. There was one condition 
which need not be mentioned, being generally understood in 
all cases where the devil grants favors; but there were 
others about which, though of less importance, he was in- 

310 flexibly obstinate. He insisted that the money found 
through his means should be employed in his service. He 



' WASHINGTON IRVING 85 

proposed, therefore, that Tom shoukl employ it in the black 
traffic ; that is to say, that he should fit put a slave-ship. 
This, however, Tom resolutely refused : he was bad enough 
in all conscience ; but the devil himself could not tempt him 315 
to turn slave-trader. 

Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not in- 
sist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should turn 
usurer ; the devil being extremely anxious for the increase 
of usurers, looking upon them as his peculiar people, 320 

To this no objections v^ere made, for it was just to Tom's 
taste. 

" You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next month," 
said the black man. 

" I'll do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom Walker. 325 

"You shall lend money at two per cent, a month." 

" Egad, I'll charge four ! " replied Tom Walker. 

" You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive the 
merchant to bankruptcy " ■ 

'•' I'll drive him to the d 1," cried Tom Walker. 330 

" You are the usurer for my money ! " said the black-legs 
with delight. " When will you want the rhino ? " # 

" This very night." 

" Done ! " said the devil. 

" Done ! " said Tom Walker. So they shook hands and 335 
struck a bargain. 

A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated behind his 
desk in a counting-house in Boston. 

His reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who would lend 
money out for a good consideration, soon spread abroad. 340 
Everybody remembers the time of Governor Belcher, when 
money was particularly scarce. It was a time of paper 
credit. The country had been deluged with government 
bills, the famous Land Bank had been established; there 
had been a rage for speculating ; the people had run mad 345 



86 . AMERICAN LITERATURE 

with schemes for new settlements ; for building cities in the 
wilderness; lan^-jobbers went about with maps of grants, 
and townships, and Eldorados, lying nobody knew where, 
but which everybody was ready to purchase. In a word, 

350 the great speculating fever which breaks out every now and 
then in the country had raged to an alarming degree, and 
everybody was dreaming of making sudden fortunes from 
nothing. As usual the fever had subsided ; the dream had 
gone off, and the imaginar}^ fortunes with it ; the patients 

355 were left in doleful plight, and the whole country resounded 
with the consequent cry of " hard times." 

At this propitious time of public distress did Tom Walker 
set up as usurer in Boston. His door was soon thronged 
by customers. The needy and adventurous ; the gambling 

360 speculator ; the dreaming land-jobber ; the thriftless trades- 
man ; the merchant with cracked credit ; in short, every 
one driven to raise money by desperate means and desperate 
sacrifices, hurried to Tom Walker. 

Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and 

365 acted like a " friend in need " ; that is to say, he always 

* exacted good pay and good security. In proportion to 
the distress of the applicant was the hardness of his terms. 
He accumulated bonds and mortgages: gradually squeezed 
his customers closer and closer ; and sent them at length, 

370 dry as a sponge, from his door. 

In this way he made money hand over hand ; became 
a rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat upon 
^Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast house, out of 
ostentation ; but left the greater part of it unfinished and 

375 unfurnished, out of parsimony. He even set up a carriage 
in the fullness of his vainglory, though he nearly starved the 
horses which drew it; and as the ungreased wheels groaned 
and screeched on the axle-trees, you would have thought 
you heard the souls of the poor debtors he was squeezing. 



WASHINGTON IRVING 87 

As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Having 380 
secured the good things of this world, he began to feel 
anxious about those of the next. He thought with regret 
on the bargain he had made with his black friend, and set 
his wits to work to cheat him out of the conditions. He 
became, therefore, all of a sudden, a violent church-goer. 385 
He prayed loudly and strenuously, as if heaven were to be 
taken by force of lungs. Indeed, one might always tell 
when he had sinned most during the week, by the clamor 
of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians who had 
been modestly and steadfastly traveling Zionward were 390 
struck with self-reproach at seeing themselves so suddenly 
outstripped in their career by this new-made convert. Tom 
was as rigid in religious as in money matters ; he was a 
stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbors, and seemed 
to think every sin entered up to their account became a 395 
credit on his own side of the page. He even talked of the 
expediency of reviving the persecution of Quakers and 
Anabaptists. In a word, Tom's zeal became as notorious 
as his riches. 

Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, 400 
Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would 
have his due. That he might not be taken unawares, there- 
fore, it is said he always carried a small Bible in his coat- 
pocket. He had also a. great folio Bible on his counting- 
house desk, and would frequently be found reading it when 405 
people called on business ; on such occasions he would lay 
his green spectacles in the book, to mark the place, while 
he turned round to drive some usurious bargain. 

Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his old 
days, and that fancying his end approaching, he had his 410 
horse new shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with his 
feet uppermost; because he supposed that at the last day 
the world would be turned upside down ; in which case he 



88 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

should find his horse standing ready for mounting, and he 

415 was determined at the worst to give his old friend a run 
for it. This, however, is probably a mere old wives' fable. 
If he really did take such a precaution, it was totally super- 
fluous ; at least so says the authentic old legend, which 
closes his story in the following manner. 

420 One hot summer afternoon in the dog-days, just as a 
terrible black thundergust was coming up, Tom sat in his 
counting-house in his white linen cap and India silk morning- 
gown. He was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by 
which he would complete the ruin of an. unlucky land 

425 speculator for whom he had professed the greatest friend- 
ship. The poor land-jobber begged him to grant a few 
months' indulgence. Tom had grown testy and irritated, 
and refused another day. 

" My family will be ruined, and brought upon the parish," 

430 said the land-jobber. " Charity begins at home," replied 
Tom ; " I must take care of myself in these hard times." 

" You have made so much money out of me," said the 
speculator. 

Tom lost his patience and his piety — " The devil take 

435 me," said he, " if I have made a farthing ! " 

Just then there were three loud knocks at the street 
door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black man 
was holding a black horse, w^hich neighed and stamped with 
impatience. 

440 " Tom, you're come for," said the black fellow, gruffly. 
Tom shrunk back, but too late. He had left his little 
Bible at the bottom of his coat-pocket, and his big Bible on 
the desk buried under the mortgage he was about to fore- 
close : never was sinner taken more unawares. The black 

445 man whisked him like a child into the saddle, gave 
the horse the lash, and he galloped, with Tom on his 
back, in the midst of the thunderstorm. The clerks stuck 



WASHINGTON IRVING 89 

their pens behind their ears, and stared after him from the 
windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing down the 
streets; his white cap bobbing up and down; his morning- 450 
gown fluttering in the wind, and his steed striking fire 
out of the pavement at every bound. When the clerks 
turned to look for the black man he had disappeared. 

Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. 
A countryman who lived on the border of the swamp re- 455 
ported that in the height of the thundergust he had heard 
a great clattering of hoofs and a howling along the road, 
and running to the window caught sight of a figure, such 
as I have described, on a horse that galloped like mad 
across the fields, over the hills, and down into the black 460 
hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort ; and that 
shortly after a thunderbolt falling in that direction seemed 
to set the whole forest in a blaze. 

The* good peoj)le of Boston shook their heads and shrugged 
their shoulders, but had been so much accustomed to 465 
witches, and goblins, and tricks of the devil, in all kinds of 
shapes, from the first settlement of the colony, that they 
were not so much horror-struck as might have been ex- 
pected. Trustees were appointed to take charge of Tom's ef- 
fects. There was nothing, however, to administer upon. 470 
On searching his coffers all his bonds and mortgages were 
found reduced to cinders. In place of gold and silver his 
iron chest was filled with chips and shavings ; two skeletons 
lay in his stable instead of his half-starved horses, and the 
very next day his great house took fire and was burnt to the 475 
ground. 

Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten 
wealth. Let all griping money-brokers lay this story to 
heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. The very hole 
under the oak-trees, whence he dug Kidd's money, is to be 480 
seen to this day ; and the neighboring swamp and old Indian 



90 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

fort are often haunted in stormy nights by a figure on horse- 
back, in morning-gown and white cap, which is doubtless the 
troubled spirit of the usurer. In fact, the story has resolved 
485 itself into a proverb, and is the origin of that popular say- 
ing, so prevalent throughout New England of '' The Devil 
and Tom Walker." 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
Thanatopsis 

To him who in the love of Nature holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer houi-s 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
5 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 

Into his darker musings, with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 

10 Over thy spirit, and sad images 

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall. 
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
Go forth, under the open sky, and list 

15 To Nature's teachings, while from all around — ■ 

Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 
Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
• In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 

20 Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again. 
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 



1 The poems of Bryant are reprinted by permission of D. Appleton & Co. 
the authorized publishers of his works. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 91 

Thine individual being, shalt thou go 25 

To mix forever with the elements, 

To be a brother to the insensible rock 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 

Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 



30 



Yet not ifo thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, 
The powerful of the' earth — the wise, the good, 35 

Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past. 
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between; 
The venerable woods — rivers that move 40 

In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all. 
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 45 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 50 

Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 
Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there: 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 55 

The flight of years began, have laid them doM^n 
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 



60 



92 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 

65 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 

And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 

70 The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — 

Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, 
By those, who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, which moves 

75 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 

His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night. 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 

80 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



To a Waterfowl 

Whither, midst falling dew. 
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 

Thy solitary way ? 

5 Vainly the fowler's eye 

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky. 
Thy figure floats along. 

Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
10 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 

Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 
On the chafed ocean-side ? 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 93 

There is a Power whose care 
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
The desert and illimitable air — ^^ 

Lone wandering, but not lost. 

All day thy wings have fanned, 
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 

Though the dark night is near. ^ i^O 

And soon that toil shall end ; 
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest. 
And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend. 

Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 25 

Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart 
Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given. 

And shall not soon depart. 

He who, from zone to zone. 
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 30 

In the long way that I must tread alone. 

Will lead my steps aright. 

A Forest Hymn 

The groves were God's first temples. 
Ere man learned 
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 
And spread the roof above them — ere he framed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back ^ 

The sound of anthems ; in the darkling wood. 
Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down. 
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And supplication. For his simple heart 

Might not resist the sacred influences 10 

Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, 
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven 



94 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once 

15 All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 

His spirit with the thought of boundless power 
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why 
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 

20 Only among the crowd, and under roofs 

That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, 
Here, in the shadow of this aged wood. 
Offer one hymn — thrice happy, if it find 
Acceptance in his ear. 

Father, thy hand 

25 Hath reared these venerable columns. Thou 

Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down 
Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun. 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 

30 And shot toward heaven. The century -living crow, 

Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood, 
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, 
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 

35 Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, 

These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
Report not. No fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race to change the form 
Of thy fair works. But thou art here — Thou fill'st 

40 The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds 

That run along the summit of these trees 
In music ; Thou art in the cooler breath 
That from the inmost darkness of the place 
Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, 

45 The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. 

Here is continual worship ; — Nature, here. 
In the tranquillity that Thou dost love, 
Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around. 
From perch to perch, the solitary bird 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 95 

Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, 50 

Wells softly forth and wandering steeps the roots 

Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 

Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left 

Thyself without a witness, in the shades, 

Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace 55 

Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak — 

By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 

Almost annihilated — not a prince, 

In all that proud old world beyond the deep, 

E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 60 

Wears the green coronal of leaves with which 

Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 

Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 

Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, 

With scented breath and look 'so like a smile, 55 

Seems, as it issues from the shapelejs mould. 

An emanation of the indwelling Life, 

A visible token of the upholding Love, 

That are the soul of this great universe. 

My heart is awed within me when I think 70 

Of the great miracle that still goes on. 
In silence, round me — the perpetual work 
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
Forever. Written on thy works I read 

The lesson of thy own eternity. 75 

Lo ! all grow old and die — but see again, 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses — ever gay and beautiful youth 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly than their ancestors _, 80 

Moulder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost 
One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet, 
After the flight of untold centuries. 
The freshness of her far beginning lies 

And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate 85 

Of his arch-enemy Death — yea, seats himself 
Upon the tyrant's throne — the sepulchre. 



96 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe 
Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth 
90 From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 

There have been holy men who hid themselves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 
Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived 
The generation born with them, nor seemed 
95 Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 

Around them; — and there have been holy men 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 
But let me often to these solitudes 
Retire, and in thy presence reassure 

100 My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, 

The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink 
And tremble and are still. O God ! when Thou 
Dost scare the world with tempest, set on fire 
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, 

105 With all the waters of the firmament. 

The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods 
And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, 
Uprises the great deep and throws himself 
Upon the continent, and overwhelms 

110 Its cities — who forgets not, at the sight 

Of these tremendous tokens of thy power. 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? 
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face 
Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 

115 Of the mad unchained elements to teach 

Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, 
In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, 
And to the beautiful order of thy works 
Learn to conform the order of our lives. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 97 

The Death of the Flowers 

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, 

Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. 

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; ' 

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. 

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 5 

And from the wood top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. 

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang 

and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? 
Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers 
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. lo 

The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. 

The wind flower and the violet, they perished long ago. 

And the brier rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; 

But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, 15 

And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood. 

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on 

men, 
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, 

and glen. 

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will 

come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; 20 

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees 

are still. 
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, 
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he 

bore. 
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. 

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, 25 

The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side. 



98 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief : 
Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of ours, 
30 So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. 



To the Fringed Gentian 

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, 
And colored with the heaven's own blue, 
That openest when the quiet light 
Succeeds the keen and frosty night, 

5 Thou comest not when violets lean 

O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen. 
Or columbines, in purple dressed. 
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 

Thou waitest late and com'st alone, 
10 When woods are bare and birds are flown, 

And frosts and shortening days portend 
The aged year is near his end. 

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
Look through its fringes to the sky, 
15 Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 

A flower from its cerulean wall. 

T would that thus, when I shall see 
The hour of death draw near to me, 
Hope, blossoming within my heart, 
20 May look to heaven as I depart. 



The Gladness of Nature 

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad. 

When our mother Nature laughs around ; 

When even the deep blue heavens look glad. 

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? 



WILLIAM CULLEN BKYANT 99 

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, 5 

And the gossip of swallows through all the sky ; 

The ground-squirrel gayly chirps by his den, 
And the wilding bee hums merrily by. 

The clouds are at play in the azui-e space, 

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, 10 

And here they stretch to the frolic chase. 

And there they roll on the easy gale. »'' 

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, 

There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, 15 

And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. 

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles 

On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray. 
On the leaping waters and gay young isles ; 

Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 20 

Robert of Lincoln 

Merrily swinging on brier and weed. 
Near to the nest of his little dame. 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 5 

Spink, spank, spink ; 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours. 
Hidden among the summer flowers. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, 

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest. 
Hear him call in his merry note : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; ^^ 

Look, what a nice new coat is mine, 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



100 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 
20 Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 

Passing at home a patient life. 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
25 Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear 

Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she ; 
One weak chirp is her only note. 
30 Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 

Pouring boasts from his little throat : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
35 Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay. 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! 
There as the mother sits all day, 
40 Robert is singing with all his might : 

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
45 Chee, chee, chee. 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 

Six wide mouths are open for food : 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well. 
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. 
50 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 101 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 55 

Sober with work, and silent with care ; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 60 

Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 65 

Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; 
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, 
Spink, spank, spink ; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 70 

Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 
Chee, chee, chee. 



The Hurricane 

Lord of the winds ! I feel thee nigh, 
I know thy breath in the burning sky ! 
And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, 
For the coming of the hurricane ! 

And lo ! on the wing of the heavy gales, 5 

Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails ; 
Silent, and slow, and terribly strong, 
The mighty shadow is borne along. 
Like the dark eternity to come ; 

While the world below, dismayed and dumb, 10 

Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere 
Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. 

They darken fast — and the golden blaze 
Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze. 
And he sends through the shade a funeral ray — 15 

A glare that is neither night nor day. 



102 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

A beam that touches, with hues of death, 
The clouds above and the earth beneath. 
To its covert glides the silent bird, 

20 While the hurricane's distant voice is heard, 

Uplifted among the mountains round, 
And the forests hear and ansv^^er the sound. 
He is come ! he is come ! do ye not behold 
His ample robes on the wind unrolled ? 

25 Giant of air ! we bid thee hail ! — 

How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale; 
How his huge and writhing arms are bent. 
To clasp the zone of the firmament. 
And fold, at length, in their dark embrace, 

30 From mountain to mountain the visible space. 

Darker — still darker ! the whirlwinds bear 
The dust of the plains to the middle air: 
And hark to the crashing, long and loud, 
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud ! 

35 You may trace its path by the flashes that start 

From the rapid wheels where'er they dart. 
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, 
And flood the skies with a lurid glow. 

What roar is that? — 'tis the rain that breaks 

40 In torrents away from the airy lakes. 

Heavily poured on the shuddering ground. 
And shedding a nameless horror round. 
Ah ! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies, 
With the very clouds ! — ye are lost to my eyes. 

45 I seek ye vainly and see in your place 

The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space, 
A whirling ocean that fills the wall 
Of the crystal heaven, and buries all. 
And I, cut off from the world, remain 

50 Alone with the terrible hurricane. 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 103 

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 

The Fight Between the Ariel and the Alacrity 

{From The Pilot, Chapter i8) 

The English cutter held her way from the land, until she 
got an offing of more than two miles, when she reduced 
her sails to a yet smaller number; and heaving into the 
wind, she fired a gun in a direction opposite to that which 
pointed to the Ariel. 5 

" jS"ow I would wager a quintal of codfish, Master Coffin," 
said Barnstable, " against the best cask of porter that was 
ever brewed in England, that fellow believes a Yankee 
schooner can fly in the wind's eye ! If he wishes to speak 
to us, why don't he give his cutter a little sheet, and come lO 
down ? " 

The cockswain had made his arrangements for the com- 
bat, with much more method and philosophy than any 
other man in the vessel. When the drum beat to quarters, 
he threw aside his jacket, vest, and shirt, with as little 15 
hesitation as if he stood under an American sun, and with 
all the discretion of a man who had engaged in an under- 
taking that required the free use of his utmost powers. As 
he was known to be a privileged individual in the Ariel, 
and one whose opinions, in all matters of seamanship, were 20 
regarded as oracles by the crew, and were listened to by 
his commander with no little demonstration of respect, the 
question excited no surprise. He was standing at the 
breech of his long gun, with his brawny arms folded on a 
breast that had been turned to the color of blood by long 25 
exposure, his grizzled locks fluttering in the breeze, and his 
tall form towering far above the heads of all near him. 

" He hugs the wind, sir, as if it was his sweetheart," was 



104 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

his answer ; " but he'll let go his hold soon ; and if he don't, 

30 we can find a way to make him fall to leeward." 

" Keep a good full ! " cried the commander, in a stern 
voice ; " and let the vessel go through the water. That fel- 
low walks well, long Tom ; but we are too much for him on 
a bowline ; though, if he continue to draw ahead in this 

35 manner, it will be night before we can get alongside him." 

" Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain ; " them cutters 

carries a press of canvas when they seem to have but little ; 

their gaffs are all the same as young booms, and spread a 

broad head to their mainsails. But it's no hard matter to 

40 knock a few cloths out of their bolt-ropes, when she will 
drop astarn and to leeward." 

" I believe there is good sense in your scheme, this time," 
said Barnstable ; " for I am anxious about the frigate's 
people — though I hate a noisy chase; speak to him, Tom, 

45 and let us see if he will answer." 

"Ay, ay, sir," cried the cockswain, sinking his body in 
such a manner as to let his head fall to a level with the 
cannon that he controlled, when, after divers orders, and 
sundry movements to govern the direction of the piece, he 

50 applied a match, with a rapid motion, to the priming. An 
immense body of white smoke rushed from the muzzle of 
the cannon, followed by a sheet of vivid fire, until, losing 
its power, it yielded to the wind, and as it rose from the 
water, spread like a cloud, and, passing through the masts 

55 of the schooner, was driven far to leeward, and soon 
blended in the lists which were swiftly scudding before the 
fresh breezes of the ocean. 

Although many curious eyes were watching this beautiful 
sight from the cliffs, there was too little of novelty in the 

60 exhibition to attract a single look of the crew of the schooner, 
from the more important examination of the effect of a shot 
on their enemy. Barnstable sprang lightly on a gun, and 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 105 

watched the instant when the ball would strike with keen 
interest, while long Tom threw himself aside from the line 
of the smoke with a similar intention ; holding one of his 65 
long arms extended towards his namesake, with a finger on 
the vent, and supporting his frame by placing the hand of 
the other on the deck, as his eyes glanced through an 
opposite port-hole, in an attitude that most men might have 
despaired of imitating with success. 70 

" There go the chips ! " cried Barnstable. " Bravo ! 
Master Coffin, you never planted iron in the ribs of an 
Englishman with more judgment. Let him have another 
piece of it ; and if he likes the sport, we'll play a game of 
long bowls with him ! " 75 

"Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain, who, the instant 
he witnessed the effects of his shot, had returned to superin- 
tend the reloading of his gun ; " if he holds on half an hour 
longer, I'll dub him down to our own size, when we can 
close and make an even fight of it." 80 

The drum of the Englishman was now, for the first time, 
heard, rattling across the waters, and echoing the call to 
quarters, that had already proceeded from the Ariel. 

" Ah ! you have sent him to his guns ! " said Barnstable ; 
" we shall now hear more of it ; wake him up, Tom — wake 85 
him up ! " 

" We shall start him on end, or put him to sleep altogether, 
shortly," said the deliberate cockswain, who never allowed 
himself to be at all hurried, even by his commander. " My 
shot are pretty much like a shoal of porpoises, and com- 90 
monly sail in each other's wake. Stand by — heave her 
breech forward — so ; get out of that, you damned young 
reprobate, and let my harpoon alone ! " 

" What are you at, there, Master Coffin ? " cried Barn- 
stable ; ^' are you tongue-tied ? " 95 

" Here's one of the boys skylarking with my harpoon in 



106 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

the lee-scuppers, and by-aiid-by, when I shall want it most, 
there'll be a no-man's-land to hunt for it in." 

" Never juind the boy, Tom ; send him aft here to me, and 

100 I'll polish his behavior; give the Englishman some more 
iron." 

" I want the little villain to pass up my cartridges," re- 
turned the angry old seaman ; " but if you'll be so good, sir, 
as to hit him a crack or two, now and then, as he goes by 

105 you to the magazine, the monkey will learn his manners, and 
the schooner's work will be all the better done for it. A young 
herring-faced monkey ! to meddle with a tool ye don't know 
the use of. If your parents had spent more of their money 
on your education, and less on your outfit, you'd ha' been a 

110 gentleman to what ye are now." 

" Hurrah ! Tom, hurrah ! " cried Barnstable, a little im- 
patiently ; " is your namesake never to open his throat again ! " 
"Ay, ay, sir; all ready," grumbled the coxswain; "de- 
press a little ; so — so ; a damned young baboon-behaved cur- 

ilSmudgeon; overhaul that forward fall more; stand by with 
your match — but I'll pay him ! — fire ! " This was the actual 
commencement of the fight ; for as the shot of Tom Coffin 
trayelled, as he had intimated, very much in the same 
direction, their enemy found the sport becoming too hot to 

120 be endured in silence, and the report of the second gun from 
the Ariel was instantly followed by that of the whole broad- 
side of the Alacrity. The shot of the cutter flew in a very 
good direction, but her guns were too light to give them 
efficiency at that distance ; and as one or two were heard to 

125 strike against the bends of the schooner, and fall back, in- 
nocuously, into the water, the cockswain, whose good-humor 
became gradually restored as the combat thickened, re- 
marked with his customary apathy, — 

" Them count for no more than love-taps — does the 

130 Englishman think that we are firing salutes ! " 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 107 

" Stir him up, Tom ! every blow you give him will help 
to open his eyes," cried Barnstable, rubbing his hands with 
glee as he witnessed the success of his efforts to close. 

Thus far the cockswain and his crew had the fight, on 
the part of the Ariel, altogether to themselves, the men 135 
who were stationed at the smaller and shorter guns stand- 
ing in perfect idleness by their sides ; but in ten or fifteen 
minutes the commander of the Alacrity, who had been 
staggered by the weight of the shot that had struck him, 
found that it was no longer in his power to tetreat, if he 140 
wished it; when he decided on the only course that was 
left for a brave man to pursue, and steered boldly in such 
a direction as would soonest bring him in contact with his 
enemy, without exposing his vessel to be raked by his 
fire. Barnstable watched each movement of his foe with 145 
eagle eyes, and when the vessel had got within a lessened 
distance, he gave the order for a general fire to be opened. 
The action now grew warm and spirited on both sides. 
The power of the wind was counteracted by the constant 
explosion of the cannon ; and, instead of driving rapidly 150 
to leeward, a white canopy of curling smoke hung above 
the Ariel, or rested on the water, lingering in her wake, 
so as to mark the path by which she was approaching to 
a closer and still deadlier struggle. The shouts of the 
young sailors, as they handled their instruments of death, 155 
became more animated and fierce, while the cockswain 
pursued his occupation with the silence and skill of one 
who labored in a regular vocation. Barnstable was unusu- 
ally composed and quiet, maintaining the grave deportment 
of a commander on whom rested the fortunes of the con- 160 
test, at the same time that his dark eyes were dancing with 
the fire of suppressed animation. 

" Give it them ! " he occasionally cried, in a voice that 
might be heard amid the bellowing of the cannon ; " never 



108 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

165 mind their cordage, my lads ; drive home their bolts, and 
make your marks below their ridge-ropes." 

In the meantime the Englishman played a manful game. 
He had suffered a heavy loss by the distant cannonade, 
which no metal he possessed could retort upon his enemy ; 

170 but he struggled nobly to repair the error in judgment with 
which he had begun the contest. The two vessels gradu- 
ally drew nigher to each other, until they both entered into 
the common cloud created by their fire, which thickened 
and spread around them in such a manner as to conceal 

175 their dark hulls from the gaze of the curious and interested 
spectators on the cliffs. The heavy reports of the cannon 
were now mingled with the rattling of muskets and pistols, 
and streaks of fire might be seen glancing like flashes of 
lightning through the white cloud which enshrouded the 

180 combatants ; and many minutes of painful uncertainty 
followed, before the deeply interested soldiers, who were 
gazing at the scene, discovered on whose banners victory 
had alighted. 

We shall follow the combatants into their misty wreath, 

185 and display to the reader the events as they occurred. 

The fire of the Ariel was much the most quick and 
deadly, both because she had suffered less, and her men 
were less exhausted ; and the cutter stood desperately on 
to decide the combat, after grappling, hand to hand. Barn- 

190 stable anticipated her intention, and well understood her 
commander's reason for adopting this course ; but he was 
not a man to calculate coolly his advantages, when pride 
and daring invited him to a more severe trial. Accord- 
ingly, he met the enemy halfway, and as the vessels rushed 

195 together, the stern of the schooner was secured to the bows 
of the cutter, by the joint efforts of both parties. The 
voice of the English commander was now plainly to be 
heard, in the uproar, calling to his men to follow him. 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 109 

" Away there, boarders ! repel boarders on the starboard 
quarter ! " shouted Barnstable through his trumpet. 200 

This was the last order that the gallant young sailor gave 
with this instrument ; for, as he spoke, he cast it from him, 
and, seizing his sabre, flew to the spot where the enemy 
was about to make his most desperate effort. The shouts, 
execrations, and tauntings of the combatants, now succeeded 205 
to the roar of the cannon, which could be used no longer 
with effect, though the fight was still maintained with 
spirited discharges of the small arms. 

" Sweep him from his decks ! " cried the English com- 
mander, as he appeared on his own bulwarks, surrounded 210 
by a dozen of his bravest men ; '' drive the rebellious dogs 
into the sea ! " 

"Away there, marines !" retorted Barnstable, firing his 
pistol at the advancing enemy ; " leave not a man of them 
to sup his grog again." 215 

The tremendous and close volley that succeeded this 
order, nearly accomplished the command of Barnstable to 
the letter, and the commander of the Alacrity, perceiving 
that he stood alone, reluctantly fell back on the deck of his 
own vessel, in order to bring on his men once more. 220 

" Board her ! gray-beards and boys, idlers and all ! " 
shouted Barnstable, springing in advance of his crew ; a 
powerful arm arrested the movement of the dauntless sea- 
man, and . before he had time to recover himself, he was 
drawn violently back to his own vessel by the irresistible 225 
grasp of his cockswain. 

" The fellow's in his flurry," said Tom, " and it wouldn't 
be wise to go within reach of his flukes ; but I'll just step 
ahead and give him a set with my harpoon." 

Without waiting for a reply, the cockswain reared his 230 
tall frame on the bulwarks, and was in the attitude of step- 
ping on board of his enemy, when a sea separated the 



no AMERICAN LITERATURE 

• 
vessels, and he fell with a heavy dash of the waters into 
the ocean. As twenty muskets and pistols were discharged 

235 at the instant he appeared, the crew of the Ariel supposed 
his fall to be occasioned by his wounds, and were rendered 
doubly fierce by the sight, and the cry of their commander 
to — 

" Revenge long Tom ! board her ! long Tom or death ! " 

240 They threw themselves forward in irresistible numbers, 
and forced a passage, with much bloodshed, to the fore- 
castle of the Alacrity. The Englishman was overpowered, 
but still remained undaunted — he rallied his crew, and 
bore up most gallantly to the fray. Thrusts of pikes and 

245 blows of sabres were becoming close and deadly, while 
. muskets and pistols were constantly discharged by those 
who were kept at a distance by the pressure of the throng 
of closer combatants. 

Barnstable led his men in advance, and became a mark 

250 of peculiar vengeance to his enemies, as they slowly yielded 
before his vigorous assaults. Chance had placed the two 
commanders on opposite sides of the cutter's deck, and the 
victory seemed to incline towards either party, wherever 
these daring officers directed the struggle in person. But 

255 the Englishman, perceiving that the ground he maintained 
in person was lost elsewhere, made an effort to restore the 
battle, by changing his position, followed by one or two of 
his best men. A marine, who preceded him, levelled his 
musket within a few feet of the head of the American com- 

260mander, and was about to fire, when Merry glided among 
the combatants, and passed his dirk into the body of the 
man, who fell at the blow ; shaking his piece, with horrid 
imprecations, the wounded soldier prepared to deal his 
vengeance on his youthful assailant, when the fearless boy 

265 leaped within its muzzle, and buried his own keen weapon 
in his heart. 



JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 111 

"Hurrah!'' shouted the unconscious Barnstable, from 
the edge of the quarter-deck, where, attended by a few men, 
he was driving all before him. "Revenge! — long Tom 
and victory ! " 270 

" We have them ! " exclaimed the Englishman ; " handle 
your pikes ! we have them between two fires." 

The battle would probably have terminated very differ- 
ently from what previous circumstances had indicated, had 
not a wild looking figure appeared in the cutter's channels 275 
at that moment, issuing from the sea, and gaining the deck 
at the same instant. It was long Tom, with his iron visage 
rendered fierce by his previous discomfiture, and his grizzled 
locks drenched with the briny element from which he had 
risen, looking like Neptune with his trident. Without 280 
speaking, he poised his harpoon, and, with a powerful effort, 
pinned the unfortunate Englishman to the mast of his own 
vessel. 

" Starn all! " cried Tom by a sort of instinct, when the blow 
was struck ; and catching up the musket of the fallen 285 
marine, he dealt out terrible and fatal blows with its butt, 
on all who approached him, utterly disregarding the use of 
the bayonet on its muzzle. The unfortunate commander of 
the Alacrity brandished his sword with frantic gestures, 
while his eyes rolled in horrid wildness, when he writhed 290 
for an instant in his passing agonies, and then, as his head 
dropped lifeless upon his gored breast, he hung against the 
spar, a spectacle of dismay to his crew. A few of the 
Englishmen stood chained to the 'spot in silent horror at the* 
sight, but most of them fled to their lower deck, or hastened 295 
to conceal themselves in the secret parts of the vessel, leav- 
ing to the Americans the undisputed possession of the 
Alacrity. 



112 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 
On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake 

Green be the turf above thee, 
Friend of my better days ! 

None knew thee but to love thee, 
Nor named thee but to praise. 

5 Tears fell when thou wert dying, 

From eyes unused to weep, 
And long, where thou art lying, 
Will tears the cold turf steep. 

When hearts, whose truth was proven, 
10 Like thine, are laid in earth, 

There should a wreath be woven 
To tell the world their worth ; 

And I who woke each morrow 
To clasp thy hand in mine, 
15 Who shared thy joy and sorrow, 

Whose weal and woe were thine ; 

It should be mine to braid it 

Around thy faded brow. 
But I've in vain essayed it, 
20 And feel I cannot now. 

While memory bids me weep thee. 
Nor thoughts nor words are free, — 

The grief is fixed too deeply 
That mourns a man like thee. 



Marco Bozzaris 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 
The Turk was dreaming of the hour 

When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
Should tremble at his power. 



FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 113 

In dreams, through camp and court he bore 5 

The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard; 
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring ; 

Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king: 

As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 10 

djk As Eden's garden-bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
True as the steel of their tried blades, 

Heroes in heart and hand. 15 

There had the Persian's thousands stood. 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 

On old Platsea's day : 
And now there breathed that haunted air, 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 20 

With arms to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far as they. 

An hour passed on — the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last : 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek, 25 

" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! " 
He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, 
And shout and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 30 

And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : 
" Strike ! — till the last armed foe expires ; 
" Strike ! — for your altars and your fires ; 
" Strike ! — for the green graves of your sires ; 35 

God — and your native land ! " 

They fought — like brave men, long and well; 

They piled the ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell. 

Bleeding at every vein. 40 



114 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

His few surviving comrades saw 

His smile, when rang their proud — " hurrah,' 

And the red field was won : 
Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
45 Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun . 

Come to the bridal-chamber, Death ; 

Come to the mother's, when she feels, 
For the first time, her first-born's breath'; 
50 Come when the blessed seals 

That close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; 
55 Come when the heart beats high and warm 

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine ; 
And thou art terrible — the tear. 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 
60 Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 
Has won the battle for the free. 

Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ; 

And in its hollow tones are heard 
65 The thanks of millions yet to be. 

Come, when his task of fame is wrought — 

Come, with her laurel-leaf, blood-bought — 
Come in her crowning hour — and then 

Thy sunken eye's unearthly light 
70 To him is welcome as the sight 

Of sky and stars to prisoned men ; 

Thy grasp is welcome as the hand 

Of brother in a foreign land ; 

Thy summons welcome as the cry 
75 That told the Indian isles were nigh 



FITZ-GREENE HALLECK 115 

To the world-seeking Genoese, 
When the land wind, from woods of palm, 
And orange groves, and fields of balm, 

Blew o'er the Haytian seas. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 80 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave. 

Even in her own proud clime. 
She wore no funeral-weeds for thee. 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume gS 

Like torn branch from death's leafless tree 
In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb ; 

But she remembers thee as one 

Long loved and for a season gone ; 90 

For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed. 

Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 

For thee she rings the birthday bells. 

Of thee her babe's first lisping tells; 

For thine her evening prayer is said 95 

At palace-couch and cottage-bed ; 

Her soldier, closing with the foe. 

Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 

His plighted maiden, when she fears 

For him the joy of her young years, 100 

Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears ; 

And she, the mother of thy boys, 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak. 

The memory of her buried joys ; 105 

And even she who gave thee birth, 
Will, by her pilgrim-circled hearth. 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's : 
One of 'the few, the immortal names, 110 

That were not born to die. 



116 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 

The American Flag 

When Freedom from her mountain height 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 
And set the stars of glory there. 
5 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 

The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light; 
Then from his mansion in the sun 
10 She called her eagle bearer down, 

And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

Majestic monarch of the cloud. 
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 

15 To hear the tempest trumpings loud 

And see the lightning lances driven, 

When strive the warriors of the storm. 
And rolls the thunder drum of heaven, 
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 

20 To guard the banner of the free. 

To hover in the sulphur smoke. 
To ward away the battle stroke. 
And bid its blendings shine afar. 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

25 The harbingers of victory ! 

Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high. 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on. 
30 Ere yet the life blood, warm and wet, 

Has dimmed the glistening bayonet. 



JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 117 

Each soldier eye shall brightly turn 

To where thy sky-born glories burn, 

And, as his springing steps advance, 

Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 35 

And when the cannon mouthings loud 

Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 

And gory sabers rise and fall 

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 

Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 40 

And cowering foes shall shrink beneath 

Each gallant arm that strikes below 
That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 

Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 45 

When death, careering on the gale. 

Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail. 

And frighted waves rush wildly back 

Before the broadside's reeling rack, 

Each dying wanderer of the sea 50 

Shall look at once to heaven and thee. 

And smile to see thy splendors fly 

In triumph o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to valor given ; 55 

Thy stars have lit the welkin dome. 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us. 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 60 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us? 



118 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

JOHN C. CALHOUN 

The Real Character of the Union 

{From On Nullification) 

Notwithstanding all that has been said, I may say that 
neither the Senator from Delaware (Mr. Clayton), nor any 
other who has spoken on the same side, has directly and 
fairly met the great question at issue: Is this a Fed- 

5 eral Union ? a union of States, as distinct from that of in- 
dividuals ? Is the sovereignty in the several States, or in 
the American people in the aggregate ? The very language 
which we are compelled to use when speaking of our politi- 
cal institutions affords proof conclusive as to its real 

10 character. The terms union, federal, united, all imply a 
combination of sovereignties, a confederation of States. 
They never apply to an association of individuals. Who 
ever heard of the United State of New York, of Massachu- 
setts, or of Virginia ? Who ever heard the term federal or 

15 union applied to the aggregation of individuals into one 
community ? Nor is the other point less clear — that the 
sovereignty is in the several States, and that our system is 
a union of twenty-four sovereign powers, under a constitu- 
tional compact, and not of a divided sovereignty between the 

20 States severally and the United States. In spite of all that has 
been said, I maintain that sovereignty is in its nature indi- 
visible. It is the supreme power in a State, and we might 
just as well speak of half a square, or half of a triangle, as 
of half a sovereignty. It is a gross error to confound the 

25 exercise of sovereign powers with sovereignty itself, or the 
delegation of such powers with the surrender of them. A 
sovereign may delegate his powers to be exercised by as 
many agents as he may think proper, under such conditions 
and with such limitations as he may impose ; but to sur- 



JOHN C. CALHOUN 119 

render any portion of his sovereignty to another is to an- 30 
nihilate the wliole. The Senator from Delaware calls this 
metaphysical reasoning, which he says he cannot comprehend. 
If by metaphysics he means that scholastic refinement which 
makes distinctions without difference, no one can hold it in 
more utter contempt than I do; but if, on the contrary, he 35 
means the power of analysis and combination — that power 
which reduces the most complex idea into its elements, 
which traces causes to their first principle, and, by the 
power of generalization and combination, unites the whole 
in one system — then, so far from deserving contempt, it is 40 
the highest attribute of the human mind. It is the power 
which raises man above the brute — which distinguishes his 
faculties from mere sagacity, which he holds in common 
with the inferior animals. It is the power which has raised 
the astronomer from being a mere gazer at the stars to the high 45 
intellectual eminence of a Newton or a Laplace, and astron- 
omy itself from a mere observation of isolated facts into that 
noble science which displays to our admiration the system of 
the universe. And shall this high power of the mind, which 
has effected such wonders when directed to the laws which 50 
control the material world, be forever prohibited, under a 
senseless cry of metaphysics, from being applied to the high 
purposes of political science and legislation ? I hold them 
to be subject to laws as fixed as matter itself, and to be as 
fit a subject for the application of the highest intellectual 55 
power. Denunciation may, indeed, fall upon the philosophi- 
cal inquirer into these first princij^les, as it did upon Galileo 
and Bacon, when they first unfolded the great discoveries 
which have immortalized their names; but the time will 
come when truth will prevail in spite of prejudice and de-60 
nunciation, and when politics and legislation will be consid- 
ered as much a science as astronomy and chemistry. 

In connection with this part of the subject, I understood 



120 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

the senator from Virginia (Mr. Rives) to say that sov- 

65 ereignty was divided, and that a portion remained with 
the States severally, and that the residue was vested in the 
Union. By Union, I suppose the senator meant the United 
States. If such be his meaning — if he intended that the 
sovereignty was in the twenty-four States, in whatever 

70 light he may view them, our opinions will not disagree; 
but, according to my conception, the whole sovereignty is in 
the several States, while the exercise of sovereign powers is 
divided — a part being exercised under compact, through 
this general government, and the residue through the sepa- 

75 rate State governments. But if the senator from Virginia 
(Mr. Rives) means to assert that the twenty-four States 
form but one community, with a single sovereign power as 
to the objects of the Union, it will be but a revival of the 
old question, of whether the Union is a union between 

80 States, as distinct communities, or a mere aggregate of the 
American people, as a mass of individuals ; and in this 
light his opinions would lead directly to consolidation. 

DANIEL WEBSTER 
On the Language of Calhoun's Resolutions 

{From The Constitution Not a Compact) 

The first two resolutions of the honorable member affirm 
these propositions, viz. : — 

1. That the political system under which we live, and 
under which Congress is now assembled, is a compact, to 

5 which the people of the several States, as separate and sov- 
ereign communities, are the parties. 

2. That these sovereign parties have a right to judge, 
each for itself, of any alleged violation of the Constitution 
by Congress ; and, in case of such violation, to choose, each 

10 for itself, its own mode and measure of redress. 



DANIEL WEBSTER 121 

It is true. Sir, that the honorable member calls this a 
^* constitutional " compact; but still he affirms it to be a 
compact between sovereign States. What precise meaning, 
then, does he attach to the term constitution? When ap- 
plied to compact between sovereign States, the term consti- 15 
tutional affixes to the word compact no definite idea. Were 
we to hear of a constitutional league or treaty between 
England and France, or a constitutional convention between 
Austria and Eussia, we should not understand what could 
be intended by such a league, such a treaty, or such a con- 20 
vention. In these connections, the word is void of all 
meaning; and yet. Sir, it is easy, quite easy, to see why 
the honorable gentleman has used it in these resolutions. 
He cannot open the book, and look upon our written frame 
of government, without seeing that it is called a constitution. 25 
This may well be appalling to him. It threatens his whole 
doctrine of compact, and its darling derivatives, nullifica- 
tion and secession, with instant confutation. Because, if 
he admits our instrument of government to be a constitution, 
then, for that very reason, it is not a co^ipact between 30 
sovereigns; a constitution of government and a compact 
between sovereign powers being things essentially unlike in 
their very natures, and incapable of ever being the same. 
Yet the word constitution is on the very front of the instru- 
ment. He cannot overlook it. He seeks, therefore, to 35 
compromise the matter, and to sink all the substantial 
sense of the word, while he retains a resemblance of its 
sound. He introduces a new word of his own, viz. compact, 
as importing the principal idea, and designed to play the 
principal part, and degrades constitution into an insignificant, 40 
idle epithet, attached to comp)act. The whole then stands 
as a ^^constitutional compact !^^ And in this way he hopes 
to pass off a plausible gloss, as satisfying the words of the 
instrument. But he will find himself disappointed. Sir, I 



122 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

45 must say to the honorable gentleman, that, in our American 
political grammar, CONSTITUTION is a noun substantive ; 
it imports a distinct and clear idea of itself; and it is not 
to lose its importance and dignity, it is not to be turned 
into a poor, ambiguous, senseless, unmeaning adjective, for 

50 the purpose of accommodating any new set of political 
notions. Sir, we reject his new rules of syntax altogether. 
We will not give up our forms of political speech to the 
grammarians of the school of nullification. By the Con- 
stitution, we mean, not a "constitutional compact," but, 

55 simply and directly, the Constitution, the fundamental law ; 
and if there be one word in the language which the people 
of the United States understand, this is that word. We 
know no more of a constitutional compact between sovereign 
powers, than we know of a constitutional indenture of co- 

60 partnership, a constitutional deed of conveyance, or a con- 
stitutional bill of exchange. But we know what the Con- 
stitution is ; we know what the plainly written fundamental 
law is ; we know what the bond of our Union and the 
security of ouf liberties is; and we mean to maintain and 

65 to defend it, in its plain sense and unsophisticated 
meaning. 

The sense of the gentleman's proposition, therefore, is 
not at all affected, one way or the other, by the use of this 
word. That proposition still is, that our system of govern- 

70 ment is but a compact between the people of separate and 
sovereign States. 

Was it Mirabeau, Mr. President, or some other master of 
the human passions, who has told us that words are things ? 
They are indeed things, and things of mighty influence, not 

75 only in addresses to the passions and high-wrought feelings 
of mankind, but in the discussion of legal and political 
questions also ; because a just conclusion is often avoided, 
or a false one reached, by the adroit substitution of one 



DANIEL WEBSTER 123 

phrase, or one word, for another. Of this we have, I think, 
another example in the resohitions before us. 80 

The first resolution declares that the people of the sev- 
eral States " acceded " to the Constitution, or to the consti- 
tutional compact, as it is called. This word ''accede," not 
found either in the Constitution itself, or in the ratification 
of it by any one of the States, has been chosen for use here, 85 
doubtless, not without a well-considered purpose. 

The natural converse of accession is secession; and, there- 
fore, when it is stated that the people of the States acceded 
to the Union, it may be more plausibly argued that they 
may secede from it. If, in adopting the Constitution, noth-90 
ing was done but acceding to a compact, nothing would 
seem necessary, in order to break it up, but to secede from 
the same compact. But the term is wholly out of place. 
jlccession, as a word applied to political associations, im- 
plies coming into a league, treaty, or confederacy, by one 95 
hitherto a stranger to it; and secession implies departing 
from such league or confederacy. The people of the United 
States have used no such form of expression in establishing 
the present government. They do not say that they accede 
to a league, but they declare that they ordain and establish 100 
a Constitution. Such are the very words of the instrument 
itself; and in all the States, without an exception, the 
language used by their conventions was, that they " ratified 
the Constitution " ; some of them employing the additional 
words " assented to " and " adopted," but all of them '' rati- 105 
fying." 

There is more importance than may, at first sight, appear, 
in the introduction of this new word, by the honorable 
mover of these resolutions. Its adoption and use are indis- 
pensable to maintain those premises from which his main no 
conclusion is to be afterwards drawn. But before showing 
that, allow me to remark, that this phraseology tends to 



124 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

keep out of sight the just view of a previous political his- 
tory, as well as to suggest wrong ideas as to what was 

115 actually done when the present Constitution was agreed to. 
In 1789, and before this Constitution was adopted, the 
United States had already been in a union, more or less 
close, for fifteen years. At least as far back as the meeting 
of the first Congress, in 1774, they had been in some 

120 measure, and for some national purposes, united together. 
Before the Confederation of 1781, they had declared 
independence jointly, and had carried on the war jointly, 
both by sea and land ; and this not as separate States, but 
as one people. When, therefore, they formed that Con- 

125 federation, and adopted its articles as articles of perpetual 
union, they did not come together for the first time; and 
therefore they did not speak of the States as acceding to the 
Confederation, although it was a league, and nothing but ^ 
league, and rested on nothing but plighted faith for its per- 

130 formance. Yet, even then, the States were not strangers to 
each other ; there was a bond of union already subsisting 
between them ; they were associated, united States ; and 
the object of the Confederation was to make a stronger and 
better bond of union. Their representatives deliberated to- 

135 gether on these proposed Articles of Confederation, and be- 
ing authorized by their respective States, finally " ratified 
and confirmed^'' them. Inasmuch as they were already in 
union, they did not speak of acceding to the new Articles of 
Confederation, but of ratifying and confirming them ; and 

140 this language was not used inadvertently, because, in the 
same instrument, accession is used in its proper sense, when 
applied to Canada, which was altogether a stranger to the 
existing union. "Canada," says the eleventh article, ^'ac- 
ceding to the Confederation, and joining in the measures of 

145 the United States, shall be admitted into the Union." 

Having thus used the terms ratify and confirm^ even in 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 125 

regard to the old Confederation, it would have been strange 
indeed, if the people of the United States, after its forma- 
tion, and when they came to establish the present Constitu- 
tion, had spoken of the States, or the people of the States, 150 
as acceding to this Constitution. Such language would 
have been ill-suited to the occasion. It would have implied 
an existing separation or disunion among the States, such 
as never has existed since 1774. No such language, there- 
fore, was used. The language actually employed is, adopts 155 
ratify, establish, ordain. 

Therefore, Sir, since any State, before she can prove her 
right to dissolve the Union, must show her authority to 
undo what has been done, no State is at liberty to secede, on 
the ground that she and other States have done nothing but I6O 
accede. She must show that she has a right to reverse what 
has been ordained, to unsettle and overthrow what has been 
established, to reject what the people have adopted, and to 
break up what they have ratified; because these are the 
terms which express the transactions which have actually 165 
taken place. In other words, she must show her right to 
make a revolution. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
." Showing His Hand " 

(A Letter to the Sangamon Journal) 

New Salem, June 13, 1836. 

To THE Editor of the Journal: In your paper of last 
Saturday I see a communication, over the signature of 
" Many voters," in which the candidates who are announced 
in the Journal are called upon to "show their hands." 5 
Agreed. Here's mine. 

I go for all sharing the privileges of the government who 



126 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

assist in bearing its burdens. Consequently, I go for ad- 
mitting all whites to the right of suffrage who pay taxes or 
10 bear arms (by no means excluding females). 

If elected, 1 shall consider the whole people of Sangamon 
my constituents, as well those that oppose as those that 
support me. 

While acting as their representative, I shall be governed 
15 by their will on all subjects upon which I have the means of 
knowing what their will is ; and upon all others I shall do 
what my own judgment teaches me will best advance their 
interests. Whether elected or not, I go for distributing the 
proceeds of the sales of the public lands to the several States, 
20 to enable our State, in common with others, to dig canals 
and construct railroads without borrowing money and pay- 
ing the interest on it. 

If alive on the first Monday in November, I shall vote for 
Hugh L. White for President. 

A. Lincoln. 



Speech on Leaving Springfield in i86i 

My Friends : No one, not in my situation, can appreciate 
my feeling of- sadness at this parting. To this place, and 
the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I 
have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a 

5 young to an old man. Here my children have been born, 
and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when or 
whether ever I may return, with a task before me greater 
than that which rested upon Washington. Without the 
assistance of that Divine Being who ever attended him, I 

10 cannot succeed. With that assistance, I cannot fail. Trust- 
ing in him who can go with me, and remain with you, and 
be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will 
yet be well. To his care commending you, as I hope 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN 127 

in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affec- 
tionate farewell. 15 

Lincoln's Shortest Speech 

(Address at Utica, New York, February i8, i86i) 

Ladies and Gentlemen : I have no speech to make to 
you, and no time to speak in. I appear before you that 1 
may see you, and that you may see me ; and I am willing 
to admit, that so far as the ladies are concerned, I have the 
best of the bargain, though I wish it to be understood that 5 
I do not make the same acknowledgment concerning the men. 

{From the First Inaugural) 

In your hands, my dissatisfied fellow-countrymen, and not 
in mine, is the momentous issue of civil war. The Govern- 
ment will not assail you. You can have no conflict, without 
being yourselves the aggressors. You have no oath regis- 
tered in Heaven to destroy the government, while / shall 5 
have the most solemn one to "preserve, protect, and de- 
fend it." 

I am loath to close. We are not enemies, but friends. 
We must not be enemies. Though passion may have 
strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The lo 
mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield 
and patriot grave, to every living heart and hearth-stone, all 
over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, 
when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better 
angels of our nature. 15 

The Gettysburg Address 

Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth 
upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and 
dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. 



128 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that 
5 nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can 
long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that 
war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a 
final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that 
the nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper 

10 that we should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot 
dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this 
ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled 
here, have consecrated it far above our power to add or de- 
tract. The world will little note, nor long remember, what 

15 we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It 
is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the un- 
finished work which they who fought here have thus so far 
nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated 
to the great task remaining before us, — that from these 

20 honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for 
which they gave the last full measure of devotion, — that we 
here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, 
— that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of 
freedom, — and that government of the people, by the 

25 people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. 

Letter to Mrs. Bixby 

Washington, November 21, 1864. 
Dear Madam : I have been shown in the files of the 
War Department a statement of the Adjutant-General of 
Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who 
5 have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak 
and fruitless must be any words of mine which should 
attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so over- 
whelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you 
the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the 



HENRY TIMROD 129 

Republic they died to save. I pray that our heavenly 10 
Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and 
leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, 
and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so 
costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. 

HENRY TIMROD 1 
A Cry to Arms 

Ho ! woodsmen of the mountain side ! 

Ho ! dwellers in the vales ! 
Ho ! ye who by the chafing tide 

Have roughened in the gales ! 
Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, 5 

Lay by the bloodless spade ; 
Let desk, and case, and counter rot, 

And burn your books of trade. 

The despot roves your fairest lands ; 

And till he flies or fears, 10 

Your fields must grow but armed bands, 

Your sheaves be sheaves of spears ! 
Give up to mildew and to rust 

The useless tools of gain ; 
And feed your country's sacred dust 15 

With floods of crimson rain ! 

Come, with the weapons at your call — 

With musket, pike, or knife ; 
He wields the deadliest blade of all 

W^ho lightest holds his life. 20 

The arm that drives its unbought blows 

With all a patriot's scorn. 
Might brain a tyrant with a rose, 

Or stab him with a thorn. 

1 The poems by Henry Timrod inchided in this book are used by special 
permission of the B. F. Johnson Publishing Co., Richmond, Va., the 
authorized publishers of his works. 



130 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

25 Does any falter? let him turn 

To some brave maiden's eyes, 
And catch the holy fires that burn 

In those sublunar skies. 
Oh ! could you like your women feel, 
30 And in their spirit march, 

A day might see your lines of steel 
Beneath the victor's arch. 

What hope, O God ! would not grow warm 
When thoughts like these give cheer? 
35 The Lily calmly braves the storm, 

And shall the Palm-tree fear? 
No ! rather let its branches court 
The rack that sweeps the plain ; 
And from the Lily's regal port 
40 Learn how to breast the strain ! 

Ho! woodsmen of the mountain side! 

Ho ! dwellers in the vales ! 
Ho ! ye who by the roaring tide 

Have roughened in the gales ! 
45 Come ! flocking gayly to the fight, 

From forest, hill, and lake ; 
We battle for our Country's right, 

And for the Lily's sake ! 

Ode 

(Sung on the occasion of decorating the graves of the Confederate dead, 
at Magnolia Cemetery, Charleston, S.C., 1867) 

Sleep sweetly in your humble graves, 

Sleep, martyrs of a fallen cause ; 
Though yet no marble column craves 

The pilgrim here to pause. 

5 In seeds of laurel in the earth 

The blossom of your fame is blown. 
And somewhere, waiting for its birth. 
The shaft is in the stone ! 



HENRY TIMROD 131 

Meanwhile, behalf the tardy years 

Which keep in trust your storied tombs, jq 

Behold! your sisters bring their tears, 

And these memorial blooms. 

Small tributes! but your shades will smile 

More proudly on these wreaths to-day, 
Than when some cannon-moulded pile 15 

Shall overlook this bay. 

Stoop, angels, hither from the skies ! 

There is no holier spot of ground 
Than where defeated valor lies, 

By mourning beauty crowned ! 20 

Flower-Life 

I think that, next to your sweet eyes, 
And pleasant books, and starry skies, 

I love the world of flowers ; 
Less for their beauty of a day, 

Than for the tender things they say, 5 

And for a creed I've held alway. 

That they are sentient powers. 

It may be matter for a smile — 
And I laugh secretly the while 

I speak the fancy out — 10 

But that they love, and that they woo. 
And that they often marry too, 
And do as noisier creatures do, 

I've not the faintest doubt. 

And so, I cannot deem it right 15 

To take them from the glad sunlight. 

As I have sometimes dared ; 
Though not without an anxious sigh 
Lest this should break some gentle tie. 
Some covenant of friendship, I 20 

Had better far have spared. 



132 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

And when, in wild or thoughtless hours, 
My hand hath crushed the tiniest flowers, 

I ne'er could shut from sight 
25 The corpses of the tender things, 

With other drear imaginings, 
And little angel-flowers with wings 

Would haunt me through the night. 

Oh ! say you, friend, the creed is fraught 
30 With sad, and even with painful thought, 

Nor could you bear to know 
That such capacities belong 
To creatures helpless against wrong, 
At once too weak to fly the sti-ong 
35 Or front the feeblest foe ? 

So be it always, then, with you ; 
So be it — whether false or true — 

I press my faith on none ; 
If other fancies please you more, 
40 The flowers shall blossom as before, 

Dear as the Sibyl-leaves of yore, 

But senseless, every one. 

Yet, though I give you no reply, 
It were not hard to justify 
45 My creed to partial ears ; 

But, conscious of the cruel part, 
My rhymes would flow with faltering art, 
I could not plead against your heart, 
Nor reason with your tears. 

Why SUent 

Why am I silent from year to year? 

Needs must I sing on these blue March days? 
What will you say, when I tell you hei-e, 

That already, I think, for a little praise, 
5 I have paid too dear ? 



PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 133 

For, I know not why, when I tell my thought, 

It seems as though I fling it away; 
And the charm wherewith a fancy is frauglit. 

When secret, dies with the fleeting lay 

Into which it is wrought. 10 

So my butterfly -dreams their golden wings 

But seldom unfurl from their chrysalis; 
And thus I retain my loveliest things. 

While the world, in its worldliness, does not miss 

What a poet sings. 15 



PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE i 
Beauregard's Appeal 

Yea ! since the need is bitter, 

Take down those sacred bells, 
Whose music speaks of hallowed joys, 

And passionate farewells ! 

But ere ye fall dismantled, 5 

Ring out, deep bells ! once more : 
And pour on the waves of the passing wind 

The symphonies of yore. 

Let the latest born be welcomed 

By pealings glad and long, 10 

Let the latest dead in the churchyard bed 

Be laid with solemn song. 

And the bells above them throbbing, 

Should sound in mournful tone, 
As if, in grief for a human death. 

They prophesied their own. 

1 The selections from Paul Hamilton Hay ne are used by permission of 
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company, publishers of Hayne's Complete Poems. 



134 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Who says 'tis a desecration 

To strip the temple towers, 
And invest the metal of peaceful notes 
20 With death-compelling powers? 

A truce to cant and folly ! 

Our peoj)le's all at stake, 
Shall we heed the cry of the shallow fool. 

Or pause for the bigot's sake ? 

25 Then crush the struggling sorrow ! 

Feed high your furnace fires, 
And mould into deep-mouthed guns of bronze. 
The bells from a hundred spires. 

Methinks no common vengeance, 
30 No transient war eclipse, 

Will follow the awful thunder-burst 
From their adamantine lips. 

A cause like ours is holy, 
And it useth holy things ; 
35 While over the storm of a righteous strife, 

May shine the angel's wings. 

Where'er our duty leads us, 
The grace of God is there. 
And the lurid shrine of war may hold 
40 The Eucharist of prayer. 



Forgotten 

Forgotten ! Can it be a few swift rounds 

Of Time's great chariot wheels have crushed to naught 
The memory of those fearful sights and sounds. 

With speechless misery fraught — 
Wherethro' we hope to gain the Hesperian height. 
Where Freedom smiles in light ? 



PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE 135 

Forgotten ! scarce have two dim autumns veiled 

With merciful mist those dreary burial sods, 
Whose coldness (when the high-strung pulses failed, 

Of men who strove like gods) 10 

Wrapped in a sanguine fold of senseless dust 
Dead hearts and perished trust! 

Forgotten ! While in far-off woodland deli, 

By lonely mountain tarn and murmuring stream, 

Bereaved hearts with sorrowful passion swell — 15 

Their lives one ghastly dream 

Of hope outwearied and betrayed desire. 

And anguish crowned with fire ! 

Forgotten ! while our manhood cursed with chains, 

And pilloried high for all the world to view, 20 

Writhes in its fierce, intolerable pains. 
Decked with dull wreaths of rue. 

And shedding blood for tears, hands waled with scars. 

Lifts to the dumb, cold stars ! 

Forgotten ! Can the dancer's jocund feet 25 

Flash o'er a charnel-vault, and maidens fair 
Bend the white lustre of their eyelids sweet. 

Love-weighed, so nigh despair. 
Its ice-cold breath must freeze their blushing brows? 
And hush love's tremulous vows? 30 

Forgotten ! Nay : but all the songs we sing 

Hold under-burdens, wailing chords of woe; 
Our lightest laughters sound with hollow ring, 

Our bright wit's freest flow, 
Quavers to sudden silence of affright, 35 

Touched by an untold blight ! 

Forgotten ! No ! we cannot all forget, 

Or, when we do, farewell to Honor's face, 
To Hope's sweet tendance. Valor's unpaid debt, 

And every noblest Grace, 40 



136 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Which nursed in Love, might still benignly bloom 
Above a nation's tomb ! 

Forgotten ! Tho' a thousand years should pass, 

Methinks our air will throb with memory's thrills, 
45 A conscious grief weigh down the faltering grass, 

A pathos shroud the hills, 

Waves roll lamenting, autumn sunsets yearn 

For the old time's return ! 



The Axe and Pine 

All day, on bole and limb the axes ring. 
And every stroke upon my startled brain 
Falls with the power of sympathetic pain ; 
I shrink to view each glorious forest-king 
5 Descend to earth, a wan, discrowned thing. 
Ah, Heaven! beside these foliaged giants slain, 
How small the human dwarfs, whose lust for gain 
Hath edged their brutal steel to smite and sting ! 
Hark ! to those long-drawn murmurings, strange and drear ! 
10 The wails of Dryads in their last distress ; 
O'er ruined haunts and ravished loveliness 
Still tower those brawny arms ; tones coarsely loud 
Rise still beyond the greenery's waning cloud, 
While falls the insatiate steel, sharp, cold and sheer ! 

Aspects of the Pines 

Tall, sombre, grim, against the morning sky 
They rise, scarce touched by melancholy airs, 

Which stir the fadeless foliage dreamfully, 
As if from realms of mystical despairs. 

5 Tall, sombre, grim, they stand with dusky gleams 

Brightening to gold within the woodland's core. 
Beneath the gracious noontide's tranquil beams — 
But the weird winds of morning sigh no more. 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 137 

A stillness, strange, divine, ineffable. 

Broods round and o'er them in the wind's surcease, jq 

And on each tinted copse and shimmering dell 

Rests the mute rapture of deep hearted peace. 

Last, sunset comes — the solemn joy and might 

Borne from the West when cloudless day declines — 

Low, flutelike breezes sweep the waves of light, 15 

And lifting dark green tresses of the pines, 

Till every lock is luminous — gently float. 

Fraught with hale odors up the heavens afar 
To faint when twilight on her virginal throat 

Wears for a gem the tremulous vesper star. 20 

Poets 

Some thunder on the heights of song, their race 

Godlike in power, while others at their feet 

Are breathing measures scarce less strong and sweet 

Than those which peal from out that loftiest place ; 

Meantime, just midway on the mount, his face 5 

Fairer than April heavens, when storms retreat, 

And on their edges rain and sunshine meet. 

Pipes the soft lyrist lays of tender grace ; 

But where the slopes of bright Parnassus sweep 

Near to the common ground, a various throng 10 

Chant lowlier measures, — yet each tuneful strain 

(The silvery minor of earth's perfect song) 

Blends with that music of the topmost steep. 

O'er whose vast realm the master minstrels reign ! 

EDGAR ALLAN POE 
To Helen 

Helen, thy beauty is to me 

Like those Nicean barks of yore. 

That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, 
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore 
To his own native shore. 5 



138 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

On desperate seas long wont to roam, 
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face. 

Thy Naiad airs have brought nje home 
To the glory that was Greece, 
10 And the grandeur that was Rome. 

Lo ! in yon brilliant window-niche 
How statue-like I see thee stand. 
The agate lamp within thy hand ! 
Ah, Psyche, from the regions which 
15 Are Holy-Land ! 



Israfel 

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell 

' Whose heart-strings are a lute ; ' 
None sing so wildly well 
As the angel Israfel, 
5 And the giddy stars (so legends tell) 

Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell 
Of his voice, all mute. 

Tottering above 

In her highest noon, 
10 The enamored moon 

Blushes with love, 

While, to listen, the red levin 
(With the rapid Pleiads, even, 
Which were seven,) 
15 Pauses in Heaven. 

And they say (the starry choir 

And the other listening things) 
That Israfeli's fire 
Is owing to that lyre 
20 By which he sits and sings — 

The trembling living wire 
Of those unusual strings. 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 139 

But the skies that angel trod, 

Where deep thoughts are a duty — 
Where Love's a grown-up God — 25 

Where the Houri glances are 
Imbued with all the beauty 

Which we worship in a star. 

Therefore, thou art not wrong, 

Lsrafeli, who despisest 30 

An unimpassioned song; 
To thee the laurels belong, 

Best bard, because the wisest ! 
Merrily live, and long ! 

The ecstasies above ^^ 

With thy burning measures suit — 
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, 

With the fervor of thy lute — 

Well may the stars be mute ! 

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this 40 

Is a world of sweets and sours ; 

Our flowers are merely — flowers. 
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss 

Is the sunshine of ours. 

If I could dwell 45 

Where Israfel 

Hath dwelt, and he where I, 
He might not sing so wildly well 

A mortal melody, 
While a bolder note than this might swell 50 

From n)y lyre within the sky. 



140 AMERICAN LITERATURE 



The Haunted Palace 

In the greenest of our valleys 

By good angels tenanted, 
Once a fair and stately palace — 

Radiant palace — reared its head. 
5 In the monarch Thought's dominion — 

It stood there ! 
Never seraph spread a pinion 

Over fabric half so fair ! 

Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 
10 On its roof did float and flow, 

(This — all this — was in the olden 

Time long ago,) 
And every gentle air that dallied. 
In that sweet day, 
15 Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 

A winged odor went away. 

Wanderers in that happy valley, 

Through two luminous windows, saw 

Spirits moving musically, 
20 To a lute's well-tuned law, 

Round about a throne where, sitting, 
(Porphyrogene !) 

In state his glory well befitting, 
The ruler of the realm was seen. 

25 And all with pearl and ruby glowing 

Was the fair palace door, 
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing 

And sparkling evermore, 
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty 
30 Was but to sing, 

In voices of surpassing beauty. 

The wit and wisdom of their king. 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 141 

But evil things, in robes of sorrow, 

Assailed the monarch's high estate. 
(Ah, let us mourn ! — for never morrow 35 

Shall dawn upon him desolate!) 
And round about his home the glory 

That blushed and bloomed, 
Is but a dim-remembered story 

Of the old time entombed. 40 

And travellers, now, within that valley, 

Through the red-litten windows see 
Vast forms, that move fantastically 

To a discordant melody, 
While, like a ghastly rapid river, 45 

Through the pale door 
A hideous throng rush out forever 

And laugh — but smile no more. 

The Raven 

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapj)ing, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
* 'Tis some visiter,' I muttered, ' tapping at my chamber door — 5 
Only this and nothing niore.' 

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December ; 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; — vainly I had sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — lo 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 
Nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 15 
' 'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door — 
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door ; — 
This it is and nothing more.' 



142 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 
20 ' Sir,' said I, ' or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door. 
That I scarce was sure I heard you ' — here I opened wide the door ; 
Darkness there and nothing more. 

25 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, 
fearing. 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token. 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ' Lenore ! ' 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word ' Lenore ! ' 

30 Merely this and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 
' Surely,' said I, ' surely that is something at my window lattice ; 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore — 
35 Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore ; — 
'Tis the wind and nothing more ! ' 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter 
In there stepped a stately Raven of the faintly days of yore. 
Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped or stayed 
he; 
40 But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — 
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
45 ' Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, ' art sure no 
craven, 
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly 

shore — 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore ! ' 
Quoth the Raven, ' Nevermore.' 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 143 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; 50 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 
With such name as ' Nevermore.' 



But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 55 

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered ' Other friends have flown 

before — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' 
Then the bird said ' Nevermore.' 60 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
' Doubtless,' said I, ' what it utters is its only stock and store 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore — 
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 65 

Of " Never — nevermore." ' 



But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling. 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and 

door ; 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— 70 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.' 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 75 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, 
She shall press, ah, nevermore ! 



144 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Then, methought, the ah- grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 
censer 
80 Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 
* Wretch,' I cried, ' thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he 

hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ; 
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and, forget this lost Lenore ! ' 
Quoth the Raven ' Nev^ermore.' 

85 ' Prophet ! ' said I, ' thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil ! — 
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore ! ' 

90 Quoth the Raven ' Nevermore.' 

' Prophet ! ' said I, ' thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both 

adore — 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 
95 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.' 
Quoth the Raven ' Nevermore.' 

' Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! ' I shrieked, 

upstarting — 
'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
100 Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my 
door ! ' 
Quoth the Raven 'Nevermore.' 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 
105 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. 
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the 

floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 145 

Ulalume 

The skies they were ashen and sober ; 

The leaves they were crisped and sere — 

The leaves they were withering and sere ; 
It was night in the lonesome October 

Of my most immemorial year ; 5 

It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, 

In the misty mid region of Weir — 
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir 

Here once, through an alley Titanic. 10 

Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — 

Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. 
These were days when my heart was volcanic 

As the scoriae rivers that roll — 

As the lavas that restlessly roll 15 

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek 

In the ultimate climes of the pole — 
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 

In the realms of the boreal pole. 

Our talk had been serious and sober, 20 

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere — 
Our memories were treacherous and sere — 

For we knew not the month was October, 
And we marked not the night of the year — 
(Ah, night of all nights in the year !) 25 

We noted not the dim lake of Auber — 

(Though once we had journeyed down here) — 

Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, 
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 

And now, as the night was senescent 30 

And star-dials pointed to morn — 

As the star-dials hinted of morn — 
At the end of our path a liquescent 

And nebulous lustre was born, 



146 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

35 Out of which a miraculous crescent 

Arose with a duplicate horn — 
Astarte's bediamonded crescent 
Distinct with its duplicate horn. 

And I said — ' She is warmer than Dian : 
40 She rolls through an ether of sighs — 

She revels in a region of sighs : 
She has seen that the tears are not dry on 

These cheeks, where the worm never dies 
And has come past the stars of the Lion 
45 To point us the path to the skies — 

To the Lethean peace of the skies — 
Come up, in despite of the Lion, 

To shine on us with her bright eyes — 
Come up through the lair of the Lion, 
50 With love in her luminous eyes.' 

But Psyche, uplifting her finger, 
Said — ' Sadly this star I mistrust — 
Her pallor I strangely mistrust : — 

Oh, hasten ! — oh, let us not linger ! 
55 Oh, fly ! — let us fly ! — for we must.' 

In terror she spoke, letting sink her 
Wings until they trailed in the dust — 

In agony sobbed, letting sink her 

Plumes till they trailed in the dust — 
60 Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 

I replied — ' This is nothing but dreaming : 

Let us on by this tremulous light ! 

Let us bathe in this crystalline light ! 
Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming 
65 With Hope and in Beauty to-night : — 

See ! — it flickers up the sky through the night ! 
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming. 

And be sure it will lead us aright — 
We safely may trust to a gleaming 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 147 

That cannot but guide us aright, 70 

Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.' 



Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, 

And tempted her out of her gloom — 

And conquered her scruples and gloom ; 
And we passed to the end of the vista, 75 

But were stopped by the door of a tomb — 

By the door of a legended tomb ; 
And I said — ' What is written, sweet sister. 

On the door of this legended tomb ?' 

She replied — < Ulalume — Ulalume — 80 

'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume ! ' 

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 
As the leaves that were crisped and sere — 
As the leaves that were withering and sere, 

And I cried — ' It was surely October 85 

On this very night of last year 
That I journeyed — I journeyed down here — 
That I brought a dread burden down here — 
On this night of all nights in the year, 
Ah, what demon has tempted me here ? 90 

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber — 
This misty mid region of Weir — 

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.' 



Annabel Lee 

It was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea 
That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

Than to love and be loved by me. 



148 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

/ was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
But we loved with a love that was more than love — 
10 I and my Annabel Lee — 

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 
Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that, long ago, 
In this kingdom by the sea, 
15 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 
My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
So that her high-born kinsmen came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre 
20 In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not half so happy in heaven. 

Went envying her and me — 
Yes ! — that was the reason (as all men know. 

In this kingdom by the sea) 
25 That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love 
Of those who were older than we — 
Of many far wiser than we — 
30 And neither the angels in heaven above, 
Nor the demons down under the sea. 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee : 

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 
35 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 

And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee : 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, 
40 In the sepulchre there by the sea — 

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 149 



Morella 

AvTO rpff avTO fxeO' avTOv, aovo etSc? atet av. 

Itself, by itself solely, one everlastingly, and single. 

— Plato, Sympos. 

With a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I re- 
garded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident into her 5 
society many years ago, my soul, from our first meeting, 
burned with fires it had never before known ; but the fires 
were not of Eros, and bitter and tormenting to my spirit 
was the gradual conviction that I could in no manner de- 
fine their unusual meaning, or regulate their vague in- 10 
tensity. Yet we met; and fate bound us together at the 
altar ; and I never spoke of passion, nor thought of love. 
She however, shunned society, and, attaching herself to me 
alone, rendered me happy. It is a happiness to wonder; 
it is a happiness to dream. 15 

Morella's erudition was profound. As I hope to live, 
her talents were of no common order — her powers of mind 
were gigantic. I felt this and, in many matters, became 
her pupil. I soon, however, found that, perhaps on ac- 
count of her Presburg education, she placed before me a 20 
number of those mystical writings which are usually con- 
sidered the mere dross of the early German literature. 
These, for what reason I could not imagine, were her fa- 
vorite and constant study — and that, in process of time 
they became my own, should be attributed to the simple 25 
but effectual influence of habit and example. 

In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do. My 
convictions, or I forget myself, were in no manner acted 
upon by the ideal, nor was any tincture of the mysticism 
which I read, to be discovered, unless I am greatly mis- 30 
taken, either in my deeds or in my thoughts. Persuaded 



150 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

df this, I abandoned myself implicitly to the guidance of 
my wife, and entered with an unflinching heart into the 
intricacies of her studies. And then — then, when, poring 

35 over forbidden pages, I felt a forbidden spirit enkindling 
within me — would Morella place her cold hand upon my 
own, and rake up from the ashes of a dead philosophy 
some low, singular words, whose strange meaning burned 
themselves in upon my memory. And then, hour after 

40 hour, would I linger by her side, and dwell upon the 
music of her voice — until, at length, its melody was tainted 
with terror, — and there fell a shadow upon my soul — and 
I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly at those too unearthly 
tones. And thus, joy suddenly faded into horror, and the 

45 most beautiful became the most hideous, as Hinnon be- 
came the Gehenna. 

It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those 
disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have 
mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole 

60 conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in 
what might be termed theological morality they will be 
readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would, at all 
events, be little understood. The wild Pantheism of Fichte ; 
the modified IlaAtyyeveo-ta of Pythagoreans ; and, above all, 

55 the doctrines of Identity as urged by Schelling were gener- 
ally the points of discussion presenting the most of beauty 
to the imaginative Morella. That identity which is termed 
personal, Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to consist in the 
saneness of a rational being. And since by person we un- 

eoderstand an intelligent essence having reason, and since 
there is a consciousness which always accompanies thinking, 
it is this which makes us all to be that which we call our- 
selves — thereby distinguishing us from other beings that 
think, and giving us our personal identity. But the princi- 

65 pium individuationis — the notion of that identity which at 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 151 

death is or is not lost forever — was to me, at all times, a con- 
sideration of intense interest ; not more from the perplexing 
and exciting nature of its consequences, than from the marked 
and agitated manner in which Morella mentioned them. 

But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the mystery 70 
of my wife's manner oppressed me as a spell. I could no 
longer bear the touch of her wan fingers, nor the low tone of 
her musical language, nor the lustre of her melancholy eyes. 
And she knew all this, but did not upbraid; she seemed 
conscious of my weakness or my folly and, smiling, called it 75 
Fate. She seemed, also, conscious of a cause, to me un- 
known, for the gradual alienation of my regard ; but she 
gave me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was she woman, 
and pined away daily. In time, the crimson spot settled 
steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon the pale 80 
forehead became prominent; and, one instant, my nature 
melted into pity but, in the next, I met the glance of her 
meaning eyes, and then my soul sickened and became giddy 
with the giddiness of one who gazes downward into some 
dreary and unfathomable abyss. 85 

Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and con- 
suming desire for the moment of Morella's decease ? I did ; 
but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of clay for many 
days — for many weeks and irksome months — until my 
tortured nerves obtained the mastery over my 'mind, and 1 90 
grew furious through delay, and with the heart of a fiend, 
cursed the days, and the hours, and the bitter moments, 
which seemed to lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life ^ 
declined — like shadows in the dying of the day. 

But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still in 95 
heaven, Morella called me to her bedside. There was a dim 
mist over all the earth, and a warm glow upon the waters, 
and, amid the rich October leaves of the forest, a rainbow 
from the firmament had surely fallen. 



152 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

100 " It is a day of days," she said, as I approached ; " a day 
of all days either to live or die. It is a fair day for the 
sons of earth and life — ah, more fair for the daughters of 
heaven and death ! " 

I kissed her forehead, and she continued : 
105 " I am dying, yet shall I live." 
" Morella ! " 
"The days have never been when thou couldst love me 

— but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in death thou 
shalt adore." 

110 "Morella!" 

"I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a pledge 
of that affection — ah, how little ! which thou didst feel for 
me, Morella. And when my spirit departs, shall the child 
live — thy child and mine, Morella's. But thy days shall 

115 be days of sorrow — that sorrow which is the most lasting 
of impressions, as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. 
For the hours of thy happiness are over; and joy is not 
gathered twice in a life, as the roses of Psestum twice in a 
year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian with 

120 time but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the vine, thou 
shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on the earth, as do 
the Moslemin at Mecca." 

" Morella ! " I cried, " Morella ! how knowest thou this ? " 

— but she turned away her face upon the pillow, and, a 
125 slight tremor coming over her limbs, she thus died, and I 

heard her voice no more. 
* Yet, as she had foretold, her child — to which in dying 
she had given birth, which breathed not until the mother 
breathed no more — her child, a daughter, lived. And she 
130 grew strangely in stature and intellect, and was the perfect 
resemblance of her who had departed ; and I loved her with 
a love more fervent than I had believed it possible to feel 
for any denizen of earth. 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 153 

But, erelong, the heaven of this pure affection became 
darkened, and gloom, and horror, and grief swept over it 135 
in clouds. I said the child grew strangely in stature and 
intelligence. Strange, indeed, was her rapid increase in 
bodily size — but terrible, oh ! terrible were the tumultuous 
thoughts which crowded upon me while watching the de- 
velopment of her mental being ! Could it be otherwise, uo 
when I daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the 
adult powers and faculties of the woman ? — when the 
lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy ? and 
when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I found 
hourly gleaming from its full and speculative eye ? When, i45 
I say, all this became evident to my appalled senses — when 
I could no longer hide it from my soul, nor throw it off 
from those perceptions which trembled to receive it — is 
it to be wondered at that suspicions, of a nature fearful 
and exciting, crept in upon my spirit, or that my thoughts 150 
fell back aghast upon the wild tales and thrilling theories 
of the entombed Morella ? I snatched from the scrutiny 
of the world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore, 
and in the rigorous seclusion of my home watched, with an 
agonizing anxiety, over all which concerned the beloved. 155 

And, as years rolled away, and I gazed, day after day, 
upon her holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and pored over 
her maturing form, day after day did I discover new points 
of resemblance in the child to her mother, the melancholy 
and 'the dead. And, hourly, grew darker these shadows of 160 
similitude, and more full, and more definite, and more per- 
plexing, and more hideously terrible in their aspect. For 
that her smile was like her mother's I could bear; but 
then I shuddered at its too perfect identity. That her eyes 
were like Morella' s I could endure ; but then they too often 165 
looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella's 
own intense and bewildering meaning. And in the con- 



154 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

tour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the silken 
hair, and in the wan fingers which buried themselves there- 

170 in, and in the sad musical tones of her speech, and above 
all — oh ! above all — in the phrases and expressions of the 
dead on the lips of the loved and the living, I found food 
for consuming thought and horror — for a worm that ivould 
not die. 

175 Thus passed away two lustra of her life and, as yet, my 
daughter remained nameless upon the earth. "My child," 
and " my love " were the designations usually prompted 
by a father's affection, and the rigid seclusion of her days 
precluded all other intercourse. Morella's name died with 

180 her at her death. Of the mother I had never spoken to 
the daughter ; — it was impossible to speak. Indeed, dur- 
ing the brief period of her existence, the latter had received 
no impressions from the outer world, save such as might 
have been afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. 

185 But at length the ceremony of baptism presented to my 
mind, in its unnerved and agitated condition, a present 
deliverance from the terrors of my destiny. And at the 
baptismal fount I hesitated for a name. And many titles 
of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern times, of my 

190 own and foreign lands came thronging to my lips, with 
many, many fair titles of the gentle, and the happy, and 
the good. What prompted me, then, to disturb the memory 
of the buried dead? What demon urged me to breathe 
that sound, which, in its very recollection, was won't to 

195 make ebb the purple blood in torrents from the temples 
to the heart ? What fiend spoke from the recesses of my 
soul, when, amid those dim aisles, and in the silence of the 
night, I whispered within the ears of the holy man the 
syllables — Morella? What more than fiend convulsed the 

200 features of my child, and overspread them with hues of 
death, as starting at that scarcely audible sound, she turned 



'EDGAR ALLAN POE 155 

her glassy eyes from the earth to heaven and, falling pros- 
trate on the black slabs of our ancestral vault, responded 
— " I am here ! " 

Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few simple 205 
sounds within my ear, and thence like molten lead, rolled 
hissingly into my brain. Years — years may pass away, 
but the memory of that epoch — never ! Nor was I indeed 
ignorant of the flowers and the vine — but the hemlock and 
the cypress overshadowed me night and day. And I kept 210 
no reckoning of time or place, and the stars of my fate 
faded from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, 
and its figures passed by me, like flitting shadows, and 
among them all I beheld only — Morella. The winds of the 
firmament breathed but one sound within my ears, and 215 
the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore — Morella. 
But she died; and with my own hands I bore her to the 
tomb; and I laughed with a long and bitter laugh as I 
found no traces of the first, in the charnel where I laid the 
second, Morella. 220 

The Short-Story 

(From revieio of Twice-Told Tales) 

The tale proper, in our opinion, affords unquestionably 
the fairest field for the exercise of the loftiest talent, which 
can be afforded by the wide domains of mere prose. Were 
we bidden to say how the highest genius could be most ad- 
vantageously employed for the best display of its own powers, 5 
we should answer, without hesitation — in the composition 
of a rhymed poem, not to exceed in length what might be 
perused in an hour. Within this limit alone can the highest 
order of true poetry exist. We need only here say, upon 
this topic, that, in almost all classes of composition, the lO 
unity of effect or impression is a point of the greatest im- 



156 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

portance. It is clear, moreover, that this unity cannot be 
thoroughly preserved in productions whose perusal cannot 
be completed at one sitting. We may continue the reading 

15 of a prose composition, from the very nature of prose it- 
self, much longer than we can persevere, to any good pur- 
pose, in the perusal of a poem. This latter, if truly fulfill- 
ing the demands of the poetic sentiment, induces an exaltar 
tion of the soul which cannot be long sustained. All high 

20 excitements are necessarily transient. Thus a long poem 
is a parodox. And, without unity of impression, the deepest 
effects cannot be brought about. Epics were the offspring 
of an imperfect sense of Art, and their reign is no more. A 
poem too brief may produce a vivid, but never an intense or 

25 enduring impression. Without a certain continuity of ef- 
fort — without a certain duration or repetition of purpose — ■ 
the soul is never deeply moved. There must be the drop- 
ping of the water upon the rock. De Beranger has wrought 
brilliant things — pungent and spirit-stirring — but, like im- 

30 massive bodies, they lack momeiitum, and thus fail to satisfy 
the Poetic Sentiment. They sparkle and excite, but, from 
want of continuity, fail deeply to impress. Extreme brevity 
will degenerate into epigrammatism ; but the sin of extreme 
length is even more unpardonable. In medio tutissimus ibis. 

35 Were we called upon, however, to designate that class of 
composition, which, next to such a poem as we have suggested, 
should best fulfil the demands of high genius — should offer 
it the most advantageous field of exertion — we should un- 
hesitatingly speak of the prose tale, as Mr. Hawthorne has 

40 here exemplified it. We allude to the short prose narrative, 
requiring from a half-hour to one or two hours in its perusal. 
The ordinary novel is objectionable, from its length, for 
reasons already stated in substance. As it cannot be read 
at one sitting, it deprives itself, of course, of the immense 

45 force derivable from totality. Worldly interests intervening 



EDGAR ALLAN POE 157 

during the pauses of perusal, modify, annul, or counteract, 
in a greater or less degree, the impressions of the book. 
But simple cessation in reading, would, of itself, be sufficient 
to destroy the true unity. In the brief tale, however, the 
author is enabled to carry out the fulness of his intention, 50 
be it what it may. During the hour of perusal the soul of 
the reader is at the writer's control. There are no external 
or extrinsic influences — resulting from weariness or inter- 
ruption. 

A skilful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, 55 
he has not fashioned his thoughts to accommodate his inci- 
dents ; but having conceived with deliberate care, a certain 
unique or single effect to be wrought out, he then invents 
such incidents — he then combines such events as may best 
aid him in establishing this preconceived effect. If his very 60 
initial sentence tend not to the outbringing of this effect, 
then he has failed in his first step. In the whole composi- 
tion there should be no word written, of which the tendency, 
direct or indirect, is not to the one pre-established design. 
And by such means, with such care and skill, a picture is at 65 
length painted which leaves in the mind of him who con- 
templates it with a kindred art, a sense of the fullest satis- 
faction. The idea of the tale has been presented unblem- 
ished, because undisturbed ; and this is an end unattainable 
by the novel. Undue brevity is just as exceptionable here 70 
as in the poem ; but undue length is yet more to be avoided. 

We have said that the tale has a point of superiority even 
over the poem. In fact, while the rhythm of this latter is an 
essential aid in the development of the poet's highest idea 
— the idea of the Beautiful — the artificialities of this 75 
rhythm are an inseparable bar to the development of all 
points of thought or expression which have their basis in 
Truth. But Truth is often, and in very great degree, the 
aim of the tale. Some of the finest tales are tales of 



158 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

80 ratiocination. Thus the field of this species of composition, 
if not in so elevated a region on the mountain of Mind, is a 
table-land of far vaster extent than the domain of the mere 
poem. Its products are never so rich, but infinitely more 
numerous, and more appreciable by the mass of mankind. 

85 The writer of the prose tale, in short, may bring to his 
theme a vast variety of modes or inflections of thought and 
expression — (the ratiocinative, for example, the sarcastic, or 
the humorous) which are not only antagonistical to the 
nature of the poem, but absolutely forbidden by one of its 

90 most peculiar and indispensable adjuncts; we allude, of 
course, to rhythm. It may be added here, par parentMse, 
that the author who aims at the purely beautiful in a prose 
tale is laboring at great disadvantage. For Beauty can be 
better treated in the poem. Not so with terror, or passion, 

95 or horror, or a multitude of such other points. And here it 
will be seen how full of prejudice are the usual animadver- 
sions against those tales of effect, many fine examples of which 
were found in the earlier numbers of Blackwood. The im- 
pressions produced were wrought in a legitimate sphere of 

100 action, and constituted a legitimate although sometimes an 
exaggerated interest. They were relished by every man 
of genius : although there were found many men of genius 
who condemned them without just ground. The true critic 
will but demand that the design intended be accomplished, 

105 to the fullest extent, by the means most advantageously 
applicable. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 159 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE i 
The May-Pole of Merry Mount 

There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance, in the 
curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wollaston, or Merry 
Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted, the facts recorded on the 
grave pages of our New England annalists have wrought themselves, 
almost spontaneously, into a sort of allegory. The masques, mummeries, 
and festive customs, described in the text are in accordance with the 
manners of the age. Authority on these points may be found in Strutt's 
Book of English Sports and Pastimes. 

Bright were the days at Merry Mount, when the May- 
Pole was the banner staff of that gay colony ! They who 
reared it, should their banner be triumphant, were to pour 
sunshine over New England's rugged hills, and scatter 
flower-seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloom were 5 
contending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come, 
bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses in her lap, of 
a more vivid hue than the tender buds of Spring. But May, 
or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year round at Merry 
Mount, sporting with the Summer months, and revelling lo 
with Autumn, and basking in the glow of Winter's fireside. 
Through a world of toil and care she flitted with a dream- 
like smile, and came hither to find a home among the light- 
some hearts of Merry Mount. 

Never had the May-Pole been so gayly decked as at 15 
sunset on midsummer eve. This venerated emblem was a 
pine-tree, which had preserved the slender grace of youth, 
while it equaled the loftiest height of the old wood mon- 
archs. From its top streamed a silken banner, colored like 
the rainbow. Down nearly to the ground, the pole was 20 
dressed with birchen boughs, and others of the liveliest 



1 The selections from Hawthorne, Emerson, Thoreau, Longfellow, Lowell, 
Whittier, and Holmes are used by permission of, and by special arrange- 
ment with, Houghton Mifflin Company, publishers of their works. 



160 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

green, and some with silvery leaves, fastened by ribbons 
that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different colors, 
but no sad ones. Garden flowers and blossoms of the 

25 wilderness laughed gladly forth amid the verdure, so fresh 
and dewy, that they must have grown by magic on that 
happy pine-tree. AVhere this green and flowery splendor 
terminated, the shaft of the May-Pole was stained with the 
seven brilliant hues of the banner at its top. On the 

30 lowest green bough hung an abundant wreath of roses, 
some that had been gathered in the sunniest spots of the 
forest, and others, of still richer blush, which the colonists 
had reared from English seed. people of the Golden Age, 
the chief of your husbandry was to raise flowers ! 

35 But what was the wild throng that stood hand in hand 
about the May-Pole ? It could not be, that the fauns and 
nymphs, when driven from their classic groves and homes 
of ancient fable, had sought refuge, as all the persecuted 
did, in the fresh woods of the West. These were Gothic 

40 monsters, though perhaps of Grecian ancestry. On the 
shoulders of a comely youth uprose the head and branching 
antlers of a stag ; a second, human in all other points, had 
the grim visage of a wolf ; a third, still with the trunk and 
limbs of a mortal man, showed the beard and horns of a 

45 venerable he-goat. There was the likeness of a bear erect, 
brute in all but his hind legs, which were adorned with 
pink silk stockings. And here again, almost as wondrous, 
stood a real bear of the dark forest, lending each of his fore- 
paws to the grasp of a human hand, and as ready for the 

50 dance as any in that circle. His inferior nature rose half- 
way, to meet his companions as they stooped. Other faces 
wore the similitude of man or woman, but distorted or 
extravagant, with red noses pendulous before their mouths, 
which seemed of awful depth, and stretched from ear to 

55 ear in an eternal fit of laughter. Here might be seen the 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 161 

Salvage Man, well known in heraldry, hairy as a baboon, 
and girdled with green leaves. By his side, a nobler figure, 
but still a counterfeit, appeared an Indian hunter, with 
feathery crest and wampum belt. Many of this strange 
company wore foolscaps, and had little bells appended to 60 
their garments, tinkling with a silvery sound, responsive to 
the inaudible music of their gleesome spirits. Some youths 
and maidens were of soberer garb, yet well maintained their 
places in the irregular throng, by the expression of wild 
revelry upon their features. Such were the colonists of 65 
Merry Mount, as they stood in the broad smile of sunset, 
round their venerated May-Pole. 

Had a wanderer, bewildered in the melancholy forest, 
heard their mirth, and stolen a half-affrighted glance, he 
might have fancied them the crew of Comus, some already 70 
transformed to brutes, some midway between man and 
beast, and the others rioting in the flow of tipsy jollity that 
fore-ran the change. But a band of Puritans, who watched 
the scene, invisible themselves, compared the masques to 
those devils and ruined souls with whom their superstition 75 
peopled the black wilderness. 

Within the ring of monsters appeared the two airiest 
forms that had ever trodden on any more solid footing than 
a purple and golden cloud. One was a youth in glistening 
apparel, with a scarf of the rainbow pattern crosswise on 80 
his breast. His right hand held a gilded staff, the ensign 
of high dignity among the revelers, and his left grasped 
the slender fingers of a fair maiden, not less gaily decorated 
than himself. Bright roses glowed in contrast with the 
dark and glossy curls of each, and were scattered round 85 
their feet, or had sprung up spontaneously there. Behind 
this lightsome couple, so close to the May-Pole that its 
boughs shaded his jovial face, stood the figure of an Eng- 
lish priest, canonically dressed, yet decked with flowers, 



162 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

90 in heathen fashion, and wearing a chaplet of the native 
vine-leaves. By the riot of his rolling eye, and the pagan 
decorations of his holy garb, he seemed the wildest monster 
there, and the very Comus of the crew. 

" Votaries of the May -Pole," cried the flower-decked 

95 priest, " merrily, all day long, have the woods echoed to 
your mirth. But be this your merriest hour, my hearts ! 
Lo, here stand the Lord and Lady of the May, whom I, a 
clerk of Oxford, and high priest of Merry Mount, am pres- 
ently to join in holy matrimony. Up with your nimble 

100 spirits, ye morrice-dancers, green men, and glee-maidens, 
bears and wolves, and horned gentlemen ! Come ; a chorus 
now, rich with the old mirth of Merry England, and the 
wilder glee of this fresh forest ; and then a dance, to show 
the youthful pair what life is made of, and how airily they 

105 should go through it ! All ye that love the May-Pole, lend 
your voices to the nuptial song of the Lord and Lady of the 
May!" 

This wedlock was more serious than most affairs of 
Merry Mount, where jest and delusion, trick and fantasy, 

110 kept up a continual carnival. The Lord and Lady of the 
May, though their titles must be laid down at sunset, were 
really and truly to be partners for the dance of life, begin- 
ning the measure that same bright eve. The wreath of 
roses, that hung from the lowest green bough of the May -Pole, 

115 had been twined for them, and would be thrown over both 
their heads, in symbol of their flowery union. When the 
priest had spoken, therefore, a riotous uproar burst from 
the rout of monstrous figures. 

" Begin you the stave, reverend Sir," cried they all ; 

120 ^' and never did the woods ring to such a merry peal, as we 
of the May -Pole shall send up ! " 

Immediately a prelude of pipe, cithern, and viol, touched 
with practised minstrelsy, began to play from a neighboring 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 163 

thicket, in such a mirthful cadence that the boughs of the 
May-Pole quivered to the sound. But the May Lord, he of 125 
the gilded staff, chancing to look into his Lady's eyes, was 
wonder-struck at the almost pensive glance that met his 
own. 

" Edith, sweet Lady of the May," whispered he reproach- 
fully, " is yon wreath of roses a garland to hang above our 130 
graves, that you look so sad ? Edith, this is our golden 
time! Tarnish it not by any pensive shadow of the mind; . 
for it may be that nothing of futurity will be brighter than 
the mere remembrance of what is now passing." 
. '^ That was the very thought that saddened me ! How 135 
came it in your mind too ? " said Edith, in a still lower tone 
than he ; for it was high treason to be sad at Merry Mount. 
" Therefore do I sigh amid this festive music. And besides, 
dear Edgar, I struggle as with a dream, and fancy that 
these shapes of our jovial friends are visionary, and their 140 
mirth unreal, and that we are no true Lord and Lady of the 
May. What is the mystery in my heart ? " 

Just then, as if a spell had loosened them, down came a 
little shower of withering rose-leaves from the May-Pole. 
Alas, for the young lovers ! No sooner had their hearts 145 
glowed with real passion, than they were sensible of some- 
thing vague and unsubstantial in their former pleasures, 
and felt a dreary presentiment of inevitable change. From 
the moment that they truly loved, they had subjected 
themselves to earth's doom of care and sorrow and troubled 150 
joy, and had no more a home at Merry Mount. That was 
Edith's mystery. Now leave we the priest to marry them, 
and the masquers to sport round the May-Pole, till the last 
sunbeam be withdrawn from its summit, and the shadows 
of the forest mingle gloomily in the dance. Meanwhile, we 155 
may discover who these gay people were. 

Two hundred years ago, and more, the Old World and its 



164 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

inhabitants became mutually weary of each other. Men 
voyaged by thousands to the West; some to barter glass 

160 beads, and such like jewels, for the furs of the Indian 
hunter ; some to conquer virgin empires ; and one stern 
band to pray. But none of these motives had much weight 
with the colonists of Merry Mount. Their leaders were 
men who had sported so long with life, that when Thought 

165 and Wisdom came, even these unwelcome guests were led 
astray by the crowd of vanities which they should have put 
to flight. Erring Thought and perverted Wisdom were 
made to put on masques, and play the fool. The men of 
whom we speak, after losing the heart's fresh gaiety, 

170 imagined a wild philosophy of pleasure, and came hither to 
act out their latest day-dream. They gathered followers 
from all that giddy tribe, whose whole life is like the festal 
days of soberer men. In their train were minstrels, not 
unknown in London streets; wandering players, whose 

175 theatres had been the halls of noblemen, mummers, rope- 
dancers, and mountebanks, who would long be missed at 
wakes, church ales, and fairs ; in a word, mirth-makers of 
every sort, such as abounded in that age, but now began to 
be discountenanced by the rapid growth of Puritanism. 

180 Light had their footsteps been on land, and as lightly they 
came across the sea. Many had been maddened by their 
previous troubles into a gay despair ; others were as madly 
gay in the flush of youth, like the May Lord and his Lady ; 
but whatever might be the quality of their mirth, old and 

185 young were gay at Merry Mount. The young deemed 
themselves happy. The elder spirits, if they knew that 
mirth was but the counterfeit of happiness, yet followed 
the false shadow wilfully, because at least her garments 
glittered brightest. Sworn triflers of a lifetime, they would 

190 not venture among the sober truths of life, not even to be 
truly blest. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 165 

All the hereditary pastimes of Old England were trans- 
planted hither. The King of Christmas was duly crowned, 
and the Lord of Misrule bore potent sway. On the eve of 
Saint John, they felled whole acres of the forest to make 195 
bonfires, and danced by the blaze all night, crowned with 
garlands, and throwing flowers into the flame. At harvest- 
time, though their crop was of the smallest, they made an 
image with the sheaves of Indian corn, and wreathed it 
with autumnal garlands, and bore it home triumphantly. 200 
But what chiefly characterized the colonists of Merry 
Mount was their veneration for the May-Pole. It has made 
their true history a poet's tale. Spring decked the hallowed 
emblem with young blossoms and fresh green boughs ; 
Summer brought roses of the deepest blush, and the per- 205 
f ected foliage of the forest ; Autumn enriched it with that 
red and yellow gorgeousness, which converts each wildwood 
leaf into a painted flower ; and Winter silvered it with sleet, 
and hung it round with icicles, till it flashed in the cold 
sunshine, itself a frozen sunbeam. Thus each alternate 210 
season did homage to the May-Pole, and paid it a tribute of 
its own richest splendor. Its votaries danced round it, 
once, at least, in every month ; sometimes they called it 
their religion, or their altar ; but always, it was the banner 
staff of Merry Mount. 215 

Unfortunately, there were men in the New World of a 
sterner faith than these May-Pole worshippers. Not far 
from Merry Mount was a settlement of Puritans, most dis- 
mal wretches, who said their prayers before daylight, and 
then wrought in the forest or the cornfield till evening 220 
made it prayer-time again. Their weapons were always at 
hand, to shoot down the straggling savage. When they 
met in conclave, it was never to keep up the old English 
mirth, but to hear sermons three hours long, or to proclaim 
bounties on the heads of wolves and the scalps of Indians. 225 



166 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Their festivals were fast-days, and their chief pastime the 
singing of psahns. AVoe to the youth or maiden who did 
but dream of a dance! The selectman nodded to the con- 
stable; and there sat the light-heeled reprobate in the 

230 stocks ; or if he danced, it was round the whipping-post, 
which might be termed the Puritan May -Pole. 

A party of these grim Puritans, toiling through the diffi- 
cult woods, each with a horse-load of iron armor to burthen 
his footsteps, would sometimes draw near the sunny pre- 

235 cints of Merry Mount. There were the silken colonists, 
sporting round their May-Pole ; perhaps teaching a bear to 
dance, or striving to communicate their mirth to the grave 
Indian ; or masquerading in the skins of deer and wolves, 
which they had hunted for that especial purpose. Often, 

240 the whole colony were playing at blind-man's buff, magis- 
trates and all with their eyes bandaged, except a single 
scape-goat, whom the blinded sinners pursued by the tink- 
ling of the bells at his garments. Once, it is said, they were 
seen following a flower-decked corpse, with merriment and 

245 festive music, to his grave. But did the dead man laugh ? 
In their quietest times, they sang ballads and told tales, for 
the edification of their pious visitors ; or perplexed them 
with juggling tricks ; or grinned at them through horse- 
collars ; and when sport itself grew wearisome, they made 

250 game of their own stupidity, and began a yawning match. 
At the very least of these enormities, the men of iron 
shook their heads and frowned so darkly, that the revelers 
looked up, imagining that a momentary cloud had overcast 
the sunshine, which was to be perpetual there. On the 

255 other hand, the Puritans affirmed, that, when a psalm was 
pealing from their place of worship, the echo which the 
forest sent them back seemed often like the chorus of a 
jolly catch, closing with a roar of laughter. Who but the 
fiend, and his bond-slaves, the crew of Merry Mount, had 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 167 

thus disturbed them ? In due time, a feud arose, stern and 260 
bitter on one side, and as serious on the other as anything 
could be among such light spirits as had sworn allegiance 
to the May-Pole. The future complexion of New England 
was involved in this important quarrel. Should the grizzly 
saints establish their jurisdiction over the gay sinners, then 265 
would their spirits darken all the clime, and make it a land 
of clouded visages, of hard toil, of sermon and psalm for 
ever. But should the banner-staff of Merry Mount be 
fortunate, sunshine would break upon the hills and flowers 
would beautify the forest, and late posterity do homage to 270 
the May-Pole. 

After these authentic passages from history, we return to 
the nuptials of the Lord and Lady of the May. Alas ! we 
have delayed too long, and must darken our tale too sud- 
denly. As we glance again at the May-Pole, a solitary sun- 275 
beam is fading from the summit, and leaves only a faint, 
golden tinge, blended with the hues of the rainbow banner. 
Even that dim light is now withdrawn, relinquishing the 
whole domain of Merry Mount to the evening gloom, which 
has rushed so instantaneously from the black surrounding 280 
woods. But some of these black shadows have rushed forth 
in human shape. 

Yes ; with the setting sun, the last day of mirth had 
passed from Merry Mount. The ring of gay masquers was 
disordered and broken ; the stag lowered his antlers in dis- 285 
may ; the wolf grew weaker than a lamb ; the bells of the 
morrice-dancers tinkled with tremulous affright. The Puri- 
tans had played a characteristic part in the May -Pole mum- 
meries. Their darksome figures were intermixed with the 
wild shapes of their foes, and made the scene a picture of 290 
the moment, when waking thoughts start up amid the 
scattered fantasies of a dream. The leader of the hostile 
party stood in the centre of the circle, while the rout of 



168 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

monsters cowered around him, like evil spirits in the pres- 

295 ence of a dread magician. No fantastic foolery could look 
him in the face. So stern was the energy of his aspect, that 
the whole man, visage, frame, and soul, seemed wrought of 
iron, gifted with life and thought, yet all of one substance 
with his head-piece and breast-plate. It was the Puritan 

300 of Puritans ; it was Endicott himself ! 

" Stand off, priest of Baal ! " said he, with a grim frown, 
and laying no reverent hand upon the surplice. " I know 
thee, Blackstone ! Thou art the man who couldst not abide 
the rule even of thine own corrupted church, and hast come 

305 hither to preach iniquity, and to give example of it in thy 
life. But now shall it be seen that the Lord hath sanctified 
this wilderness for his peculiar people. Woe unto them 
that would defile it! And first, for this flower-decked 
abomination, the altar of thy worship ! " 

310 And with his keen sword Endicott assaulted the hallowed 

May-Pole. Nor long did it resist his arm. It groaned with 

a dismal sound ; it showered leaves and rosebuds upon the 

remorseless enthusiast ; and finally, with all its green 

■ boughs, and ribbons, and flowers, symbolic of departed 

•3l!5 pleasures, down fell the banner-staff of Merry Mount. As 
it sank, tradition says, the evening sky grew darker, and 
the woods threw forth a more sombre shadow. 

"There," cried Endicott, looking triumphantly on his 
work, — " there lies the only May-Pole in New England ! 

320 The thought is strong within me, that, by its fall, is shad- 
owed forth the fate of light and idle mirth-makers, amongst 
us and our posterity. Amen, saith John Endicott." 
" Amen ! " echoed his followers. 
But the votaries of the May-Pole gave one groan for their 

325 idol. At the sound, the Puritan leader glanced at the crew 
of Com us, each a figure of broad mirth, yet, at this moment, 
strangely expressive of sorrow and dismay. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 169 

" Valiant captain," quoth Peter Palfrey, the Ancient of 
the band, "what order shall be taken with the prisoners ? " 

" I thought not to repent me of cutting down a May- 330 
Pole," replied Endicott, " yet now I could find in my heart 
to plant it again, and give each of these bestial pagans one 
other dance round their idol. It would have served rarely 
for a whipping-post ! " 

" But there are pinetrees enow," suggested the lieutenant. 335 

"True, good Ancient," said the leader. "Wherefore, 
bind the heathen crew, and bestow on them a small matter 
of stripes apiece, as earnest of our future justice. Set some 
of the rogues in the stocks to rest themselves, so soon as 
Providence shall bring us to one of our own well-ordered 340 
settlements, where such accommodations may be found. 
Further penalties, such as branding and cropping of ears, 
shall be thought of hereafter." 

" How many stripes for the priest ? " inquired Ancient 
Palfrey. 345 

"None as yet," answered Endicott, bending his iron 
frown upon the culprit. "It must be for the Great and* 
General Court to determine whether stripes and long im- 
prisonment, and other grievous penalty, may atone for his 
transgressions. Let him look to himself ! For such as vio- 350 
late our civil order, it may be permitted us to show mercy. 
But woe to the wretch that troubleth our religion ! " 

" And this dancing bear," resumed the officer. " Must he 
share the stripes of his fellows ? " 

" Shoot him through the head ! " said the energetic Puri- 355 
tan. "I suspect witchcraft in the beast." 

" Here be a couple of shining ones," continued Peter Pal- 
frey, pointing his weapon at the Lord and Lady of the May. 
"They seem to be of high station among these misdoers. 
Methinks their dignitj'- will not be fitted with less than a 360 
double share of stripes." 



170 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Endicott rested on his sword, and closely surveyed the 
dress and aspect of the hapless pair. There they stood, 
pale, downcast, and apprehensive. Yet there w^as an air of 

365 mutual support, and of pure affection, seeking aid and giv- 
ing it, that showed them to be man and wife, with the sanc- 
tion of a priest upon their love. The youth, in the peril of 
the moment, had dropped his gilded staff, and thrown his 
arm about the Lady of the May, who leaned against his 

370 breast, too lightly to burthen him, but with weight enough 
to express that their destinies were linked together, for 
good or evil. They looked first at each other, and then into 
the grim captain's face. There they stood, in the first hour 
of wedlock, while the idle pleasures, of which their com- 

375 panions were the emblems, had given place to the sternest 
cares of life, personified by the dark Puritans. But never 
had their youthful beauty seemed so pure and high, as when 
its glow was chastened by adversity. 

" Youth," said Endicott, " ye stand in an evil case, thou 

380 and thy maiden wife. Make ready presently; for I am 
minded that ye shall both have a token to remember your 
wedding-day ! " 

" Stern man," cried the May Lord, " how can I move thee ? 
Were the means at hand, I would resist to the death. Be- 

385 ing powerless, I entreat ! Do with me as thou wilt, but let 
Edith go untouched ! " 

"Not so," replied the immitigable zealot. "We are not 
wont to show an idle courtesy to that sex, which requireth 
the stricter discipline. What sayest thou, maid? Shall 

390 thy silken bridegroom suffer thy share of the penalty, be- 
sides his own ? " 

" Be it death," said Edith, " and lay it all on me! " 
Truly, as Endicott had said, the poor lovers stood in a 
woful case. Their foes were triumphant, their friends cap- 

395 tive and abased, their home desolate, the benighted wilder- 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 171 

ness around them, and a rigorous destiny, in the shape of 
the Puritan leader, their only guide. Yet the deepening 
twilight could not altogether conceal that the iron man was 
softened ; he smiled at the fair spectacle of early love ; he 
almost sighed for the inevitable blight of early hopes. 400 

"The troubles of life have come hastily on this young 
couple," observed Endicott. " We will see how they com- 
port themselves under their present trials, ere we burthen 
them with greater. If, among the spoil, there be any gar- 
ments of a more decent fashion, let them be put upon this 405 
May Lord and his Lady, instead of their glistening vanities. 
Look to it, some of you." 

" And shall not the youth's hair be cut ? " asked Peter 
Palfrey, looking with abhorrence at the love-lock and long 
glossy curls of the young man. 410 

" Crop it forthwith, and that in the true pumpkin-shell 
fashion," answered the captain. " Then bring them along 
with us, but more gently than their fellows. There be 
qualities in the youth, which may make him valiant to fight, 
and sober to toil, and pious to pray ; and in the maiden, 415 
that may fit her to become a mother in our Israel, bringing 
up babes in better nurture than her own hath been. Nor 
think ye, young ones, that they are the happiest, even in 
our lifetime of a moment, who misspend it in dancing round 
a May-Pole ! " 420 

And Endicott, the severest Puritan of all who laid the 
rock-foundation of New England, lifted the wreath of roses 
from the ruin of the May-Pole, and threw it, with his own 
gauntleted hand, over the heads of the Lord and Lady of the 
May. It was a deed of prophecy. As the moral gloom of 425 
the world overpowers all systematic gaiety, even so was 
their home of wild mirth made desolate amid the sad forest. 
They returned to it no more. But, as their flowery garland 
was wreathed of the brightest roses that had grown there, 



172 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

430 SO, in the tie that united them, were intertwined all the 
purest and best of their early joys. They went heaven- 
ward, supporting each other along the difficult path which 
it was their lot to tread, and never wasted one regretful 
thought on the vanities of Merry Mount. 

Drowne's Wooden Image 

One sunshiny morning, in the good old times of the town of 
Boston, a young carver in wood, well known by the name 
of Drowne, stood contemplating a large oaken log, which it 
was his purpose to convert into the figure-head of a vessel. 
5 And while he discussed within his own mind what sort of 
shape or similitude it were well to bestow upon this excellent 
piece of timber, there came into Drowne's workshop a cer- 
tain Captain Hunnewell, owner and commander of the good 
brig called the Cynosure, which had just returned from her 

10 first voyage to Fayal. 

" Ah ! that will do, Drowne, that will do ! " cried the 
jolly captain, tapping the log with his rattan. " I bespeak 
this very piece of oak for the figure-head of the Cynosure. 
She has shown herself the sweetest craft that ever floated, 

15 and I mean to decorate her prow with the handsomest image 
that the skill of man can cut out of timber. And, Drowne, 
you are the fellow to execute it." 

" You give me more credit than I deserve. Captain Hunne- 
well," said the carver, modestly, yet as one conscious of 

20 eminence in his art. " But, for the sake of the good brig, I 
stand ready to do my best. And which of these designs 
do you prefer? Here," — pointing to a staring, half-length 
figure, in a white wig and scarlet coat, — " here is an ex- 
cellent model, the likeness of our gracious king. Here is 

25 the valiant Admiral Vernon. Or, if you prefer a female 
figure, what say you to Britannia with the trident ? " 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 173 

"All very fine, Drowne ; all very fine," answered the 
mariner. " But as nothing like the brig ever swam the 
ocean, so I am determined she shall have such a figure-head 
as old Neptune never saw in his life. And what is more, 30 
as there is a secret in the matter, you must pledge your 
credit not to betray it." 

" Certainly," said Drowne, marvelling, however, what 
possible mystery there could be in reference to an affair so 
open, of necessity, to the inspection of all the world as the 35 
figure-head of a vessel. " You may depend, captain, on my 
being as secret as the nature of the case will permit." 

Captain Hunnewell then took Drowne by the button, and 
communicated his wishes in so low a tone that it would be 
unmannerly to repeat what was evidently intended for the 40] 
carver's private ear. We shall, therefore, take the opportu- 
nity to give the reader a few desirable particulars about 
Drowne himself. 

He was the first American who is known to have at- 
tempted — in a very humble line, it is true — that art in 45 
which we can now reckon so many names already distin- 
guished, or rising to distinction. From his earliest boyhood 
he had exhibited a knack — for it would be too proud a 
word to call it genius — a knack, therefore, for the imitation 
of the human figure in whatever material came most readily 50 
to hand. The snows of a New England winter had often 
supplied him with a species of marble as dazzlingly white, 
at least, as the Parian or the Carrara, and if less durable, 
yet sufficiently so to correspond with any claims to permanent 
existence possessed by the boy's frozen statues. Yet they 55 
won admiration from maturer judges than his school-fellows, 
and were indeed, remarkably clever, though destitute of the 
native warmth that might have made the snow melt beneath 
his hand. As he advanced in life, the young man adopted 
pine and oak as eligible materials for the display of his 60 



174 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

skill, which now began to bring him a return of solid silver 
as well as the empty praise that had been an apt reward 
enough for his productions of evanescent snow. He became 
noted for carving ornamental pump heads, and wooden urns 

65 for gate posts, and decorations, more grotesque than fanci- 
ful, for mantelpieces. No apothecary would have deemed 
himself in the way of obtaining custom without setting up 
a gilded mortar, if not a head of Galen or Hippocrates, 
from the skilful hand of Drowne. 

70 Bat the great scope of his business lay in the manu- 
facture of figure-heads for vessels. Whether it were 
the monarch himself, or some famous British admiral 
or general, or the governor of the province, or perchance 
the favorite daughter of the ship-owner, there the image stood 

75 above the prow, decked out in gorgeous colors, magnificently 
gilded, and staring the whole world out of countenance, as 
if from an innate consciousness of its own superiority. 
These specimens of native sculpture had crossed the sea 
in all directions, and been not ignobly noticed among the 

80 crowded shipping of the Thames and wherever else the 
hardy mariners of New England had pushed their ad- 
ventures. It must be confessed that a family likeness 
pervaded these respectable progeny of Drowne's skill ; that 
the benign countenance of the king resembled those of his 

85 subjects, and that Miss' Peggy Hobart, the merchant's 
daughter, bore a remarkable similitude to Britannia, Vic- 
tory, and other ladies of the allegoric sisterhood; and, 
finally, that they all had a kind of wooden aspect which 
proved an intimate relationship with the unshaped blocks 

90 of timber in the carver's workshop. But at least there was 
no inconsiderable skill of hand, nor a deficiency of any 
attribute to render them really works of art, except that 
deep quality, be it of soul or intellect, which bestows life 
upon the lifeless and warmth upon the cold, and which, 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 175 

had it been present, would have made Drowne's wooden 95 
image instinct with spirit. 

The captain of the Cynosure had now finished his in- 
structions. 

'• And Drowne," said he, impressively, '• you must lay 
aside all other business and set about this forthwith. And lOO 
as to the price, only do the job in first-rate style, and you 
shall settle that point yourself." 

"Very well, captain," answered the carver, who looked 
grave and somewhat perplexed, yet had a sort of smile 
upon his visage ; " depend upon it, I'll do my utmost to 105 
satisfy you." 

From that moment the men of taste about Long Wharf 
and the Town Dock who were wont to show their love for the 
arts by frequent visits to Drowne's workshop, and admira- 
tion of his wooden images, began to be sensible of a mystery no 
in the carver's conduct. Often he was absent in the day- 
time. Sometimes, as might be judged by gleams of light 
from the shop windows, he was at work until a late hour 
of the evening ; although neither knock nor voice, on such 
occasions, could gain admittance for a visitor, or elicit any 115 
word of response. Nothing remarkable, however, was ob- 
served in the shop at those hours when it was thrown open. 
A fine piece of timber, indeed, which Drowne was known 
to have reserved for some work of especial dignity, was 
seen to be gradually assuming shape. What shape it was 120 
destined ultimately to take w^as a problem to his friends 
and a point on which the carver himself preserved a rigid 
silence. But day after day, though Drowne was seldom 
noticed in the act of working upon it, this rude form began 
to be developed until it became evident to all observers 125 
that a female figure was growing into mimic life. At each 
new visit they beheld a larger pile of wooden chips and a 
nearer approximation to something beautiful. It seemed 



176 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

as if the hamadryad of the oak had sheltered herself 

130 from the unimagmative world within the heart .of her 
native tree, and that it was only necessary to remove 
the strange shapelessness that had incrusted her, and reveal 
the grace and loveliness of a divinity. Imperfect as the 
design, the attitude, the costume, and especially the face 

135 of the image still remained, there was already an effect 
that drew the eye from the wooden cleverness of Browne's 
earlier productions and fixed it upon the tantalizing mys- 
tery of this new project. 

Copley, the celebrated painter, then a young man and a 

140 resident of Boston, came one day to visit Drowne ; for he 
had recognized so much of moderate ability in the carver 
as to induce him, in the dearth of professional sympathy, 
to cultivate his acquaintance. On entering the shop, the 
artist glanced at the inflexible image of king, commander, 

145 dame, and allegory, that stood around, on the best of which 
might have been bestowed the questionable praise that it 
looked as if a living man had here been changed to wood, 
and that not only the physical, but the intellectual and 
spiritual part, partook of the stolid transformation. But 

150 in not a single instance did it seem as if the wood were im- 
bibing the ethereal essence of humanity. What a w4de 
distinction is here ! and how far would the slightest portion 
of the latter merit have outvalued the utmost degree of the 
former ! 

155 "My friend Drowne," said Copley, smiling to himself, 
but alluding to the mechanical and wooden cleverness that 
so invariably distinguished the images, "you are really a 
remarkable person ! I have seldom met with a man in your 
line of business that could do so much ; for one other touch 

160 might make this figure of General Wolfe, for instance, a 
breathing and intelligent human creature." 

"You would have me think that you are praising me 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 177 

highly, Mr. Copley," answered Drowne, turning his back 
upon Wolfe's image in apparent disgust. " But there has 
come a light into my mind. I know, what you know as 165 
well, that the one touch which you speak of as deficient 
is the only one that would be truly valuable, and that with- 
out it these works of mine are no better than worthless 
abortions. There is the same difference between them and 
the works of an inspired artist as between a sign-post daub 170 
and one of your best pictures." 

" This is strange," cried Copley, looking him in the face, 
which now, as the painter fancied, had a singular depth of 
intelligence, though hitherto it had not given him greatly 
the advantage over his owm family of wooden images. 175 
" What has come over you ? How is it that, possessing the 
idea which you have now uttered, you should produce only 
such works as these ? " 

The carver smiled, but made no reply. Copley turned 
again to the images, conceiving that the sense of deficiency 180 
which Drowne had just expressed, and which is so rare in a 
merely mechanical character, must surely imply a genius, 
the tokens of which had heretofore been overlooked. But 
no ; there was not a trace of it. He was about to withdraw 
when his eyes chanced to fall upon a half-developed figure 185 
which lay in a corner of the workshop, surrounded by scat- 
tered chips of oak. It arrested him at once. 

" What is here ? Who has done this ? " he broke out, 
after contemplating it in speechless astonishment for an 
instant. " Here is the divine, the life-giving touch. What 190 
inspired hand is beckoning this wood to arise and live ? 
Whose work is this ?" 

" No man's work," replied Drowne. " The figure lies 
within that block of oak, and it is my business to find it." 

"Drowne," said the true artist, grasping the carver fer- 195 
vently by the hand, " you are a man of genius ! " 



178 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

As Copley departed, happening to glance backward from 
the threshold, he beheld Drowne bending over the half- 
created shape, and stretching forth his arms as if he would 

200 have embraced and drawn it to his heart ; while, had such 
a miracle been possible, his countenance expressed passion 
enough to communicate warmth and sensibility to the life- 
less oak. 

" Strange enough ! " said the artist to himself. " Who 

205 would have looked for a modern Pygmalion in the person 
of a Yankee mechanic ! " 

As yet, the image was but vague in its outward present- 
ment ; so that, as in the cloud shapes around the western 
sun, the observer rather felt, or was led to imagine, than 

210 really saw what was intended by it. Day by day, however, 
the work assumed greater precision, and settled its irregu- 
lar and misty outline into distincter grace and beauty. The 
general design was now obvious to the common eye. It 
was a female figure, in what appeared to be a foreign dress ; 

215 the gown being laced over the bosom, and opening in front 
so as to disclose a skirt or petticoat, the folds and inequali- 
ties of which were admirably represented in the oaken 
substance. She wore a hat of singular gracefulness, and 
abundantly laden with flowers, such as never grew in the 

220 rude soil of New England, but which, with all their fanci- 
ful luxuriance, had a natural truth that it seemed impossi- 
ble for the most fertile imagination to have attained 
without copying from real prototypes. There were several 
little appendages to this dress, such as a fan, a pair of ear- 

225 rings, a chain about the neck, a watch in the bosom, and a 
ring upon the finger, all of which would have been deemed 
beneath the dignity of sculpture. They were put on, how- 
ever, with as much taste as a lovely woman might have 
shown in her attire, and could therefore have shocked none 

230 but a judgment spoiled by artistic rules. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 179 

The face was still imperfect ; but gradually, by a magic 
touch, intelligence and sensibility brightened through the 
features, with all the effect of light gleaming forth from 
within the solid oak. The face became alive. It was a 
beautiful, though not precisely regular and somewhat 235 
haughty aspect, but with a certain piquancy about the eyes 
and mouth, which, of all expressions, would have seemed 
the most impossible to throw over a wooden countenance. 
And now, so far as carving went, this wonderful production 
was complete. 240 

" Drowne," said Copley, who had hardly missed a single 
day in his visits to the carver's workshop, " if this work 
were in marble it would make you famous at once ; nay, I 
would almost affirm that it would make an era in the art. 
It is as ideal as an antique statue, and yet as real as any 245 
lovely woman whom one meets at a fireside or in the street. 
But I trust you do not mean to desecrate this exquisite 
creature with paint, like those staring kings and admirals 
yonder ? " 

" Not paint her ! " exclaimed Captain Hunnewell, who 250 
stood by; "not paint the figure-head of the Cynosure! 
And what sort of a figure should I cut in a foreign port 
with such an unpainted oaken stick as this over my prow ! 
She must, and she shall, be painted to the life, from the 
topmost flower in her hat down to the silver spangles on 255 
her slippers." 

" Mr. Copley," said Drowne, quietly, " I know nothing of 
marble statuary, and nothing of the sculptor's rules of art ; 
but of this wooden image, this work of my hands, this 
creature of my heart," — and here his voice faltered and 260 
choked in a very singular manner, — "of this — of her — 
I may say that I know something. A well-spring of inward 
wisdom gushed within me as I wrought upon the oak with 
my whole strength, and soul, and faith. Let others do 



180 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

265 what they may with marble, and adopt what rules they 
choose. If I can produce my desired effect by painted 
wood, those rules are not for me, and I have a right to dis- 
regard them." 

"The very spirit of genius,'^ muttered Copley to himself. 

270 " How otherwise should this carver feel himself entitled to 
transcend all rules, and make me ashamed of quoting 
them ? " 

He looked earnestly at Drowne, and again saw that ex- 
pression of' human love which, in a spiritual sense, as the 

275 artist could not help imagining, was the secret of the life 
that had been breathed into this block of wood. 

The carver, still in the same secrecy that marked all his 
operations upon this mysterious image, proceeded to paint 
the habiliments in their proper colors, and the countenance 

280 with Nature's red and white. When all was finished he 
threw open his workshop, and admitted the townspeople to 
behold what he had done. Most persons, at their first en- 
trance, felt impelled to remove their hats, and pay such rev- 
erence as was due to the richly-dressed and beautiful young 

285 lady who seemed to stand in a corner of the room, with 
oaken chips and shavings scattered at her feet. Then came 
a sensation of fear ; as if, not being actually human, yet so 
like humanity, she must therefore be something preternat- 
ural. There was, in truth, an indefinable air and expres- 

290 sion that might reasonably induce the query. Who and from 
what sphere this daughter of the oak should be ? The 
strange, rich flowers of Eden on her head ; the complexion 
so much deeper and more brilliant than those of our native 
beauties ; the foreign, as it seemed, and fantastic garb, yet 

295 not too fantastic to be worn decorously in the street ; the 
delicately wrought embroidery of the skirt ; the broad gold 
chain about her neck ; the curious ring upon her finger ; the 
fan, so exquisitely sculptured in open work, and painted to 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 181 

resemble pearl and ebony ; — where could Drowne, in his 
sober walk of life, have beheld the vision here so match- 300 
lessly embodied ! And then her face ! In the dark eyes, 
and around the voluptuous mouth, there played a look made 
up of pride, coquetry, and a gleam of mirthfulness, which 
impressed Copley with the idea that the image was secretly 
enjoying the perplexing admiration of himself and other 305 
beholders. 

" And will you," said he to the carver, " permit this mas- 
terpiece to become the figure-head of a vessel ? Give the 
honest captain yonder figure of Britannia — it will answer 
his purpose far better — and send this fairy queen to Eng- 310 
land, where, for aught I know, it may bring you a thousand 
pounds." 

" I have not wrought it for money," said Drowne. 

" What sort of a fellow is this ! " thought Copley. " A 
Yankee, and throw away the chance of making his fortune ! 315 
He has gone mad ; and thence has come this gleam of 
genius." 

There was still further proof of Drowne's lunacy, if credit 
were due to the rumor that he had been seen kneeling at 
the feet of the oaken lady, and gazing with a lover's pas- 320 
sionate ardor into the face that his own hands had created. 
The bigots of the day hinted that it would be no matter of 
surprise if an evil spirit were allowed to enter this beautiful 
form, and seduce the carver to destruction. 

The fame of the image spread far and wide. The inhabit- 325 
ants visited it so universally, that after a few days of ex- 
hibition there was hardly an old man or a child who had 
not become minutely familiar with its aspect. Even had 
the story of Drowne's wooden image ended here, its celebrity 
might have been prolonged for many years by the reminis-330 
cences of those who looked upon it in their childhood, and 
saw nothing else so beautiful in after life. But the town 



182 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

was now astounded by an event, the narrative of which has 
formed itself into one of the most singular legends that are 

335 yet to be met with in the traditionary chimney corners of 
the New England metropolis, where old men and women 
sit dreaming of the past, and wag their heads at the dreamers 
of the present and the future. 

One fine morning, just before the departure of the Cyno- 

340 sure on her second voyage to Fayal, the commander of that 
gallant vessel was seen to issue from his residence in Han- 
over Street. He was stylishly dressed in a blue broadcloth 
coat, witli gold lace at the seams and button-holes, an em- 
broidered scarlet waistcoat, a triangular hat, with a loop 

345 and broad binding of gold, and wore a silver-hilted hanger 
at his side. But the good captain might have been arrayed 
in the robes of a prince or the rags of a beggar, without in 
either case attracting notice, while obscured by such a com- 
panion as now leaned on his arm. The people in the street 

350 started, rubbed their eyes, and either leaped aside from 
their path, or stood as if transfixed to wood or marble in 
astonishment. 

" Do you see it ? — do you see it ? " cried one, with trem- 
ulous eagerness. " It is the very same ! " 

355 " The same ? " answered another, who had arrived in 
town only the night before. " Who do you mean ? I see 
only a sea-captain in his shore-going clothes, and a young 
lady in a foreign habit, with a bunch of beautiful flowers in 
her hat. On my word, she is as fair and bright a damsel as 

360 my eyes have looked on this many a day ! '' 

" Yes ; the same ! — the very same ! " repeated the other. 
" Drowne's wooden image has come to life !*" 

Here was a miracle indeed ! Yet, illuminated by the sun- 
shine, or darkened by the alternate shade of -the houses, and 

365 with its garments fluttering lightly in the morning breeze, 
there passed the image along the street. It was exactly and 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 183 

minutely the shape, the garb, and the face which the towns- 
people had so recently thronged to see and admire. Not arich 
flower upon her head, not a single leaf, but had had its proto- 
type in Drowne's wooden workmanship, although now their 370 
fragile grace had become flexible, was shaken by every foot- 
step that the wearer made. The broad gold chain upon the 
neck was identical with the one represented on the image, 
and glistened with the motion imparted by the rise and fall 
of the bosom which it decorated. A real diamond sparkled 375 
on her finger. In her right hand she bore a pearl and ebony 
fan, which she flourished with a fantastic and bewitching 
coquetry, that was likewise expressed in all her movements 
as well as in the style of her beauty and the attire that so 
well harmonized with it. The face with its brilliant depth 380 
of complexion had the same piquancy of mirthful mischief 
that was fixed upon the countenance of the image, but which 
was here varied and continually shifting, yet always essen- 
tially the same, like the sunny gleam upon a bubbling 
fountain. On the whole, there was something so airy and 385 
yet so real in the figure, and withal so perfectly did it rep- 
resent Drowne's image, that people knew not whether to 
suppose the magic wood etherealized into a spirit or warmed 
and softened into an actual woman. 

"One thing is certain," muttered a Puritan of the old 390 
stamp, "Drowne has sold himself to the devil; and doubt- 
less this gay Captain Hunnewell is a party to the bargain." 

" And I," said a young man who overheard him, " would 
almost consent to be the third victim, for the liberty of 
saluting those lovely lips." 395 

"And so would I," said Copley, the painter, "for the 
privilege of taking her picture." 

The image, or the apparition, whichever it might be, still 
escorted by the bold captain, proceeded from Hanover Street 
through some of the cross lanes that make this portion of 400 



184 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

the town so intricate, to Ann Street, thence into Dock Square, 
and so downward to Browne's shop, which stood just on the 
water's edge. The crowd still followed, gathering volume 
as it rolled along. Never had a modern miracle occurred in 

405 such broad daylight, nor in the presence of such a multitude 
of witnesses. The airy image, as if conscious that she was 
the object of the murmurs and disturbance that swelled be- 
hind her, appeared slightly vexed and flustered, yet still in 
a manner consistent with the light vivacity and sportive 

410 mischief that were written in her countenance. She was 
observed to flutter her fan with such vehement rapidity that 
the elaborate delicacy of its workmanship gave way, and it 
remained broken in her hand. 

Arriving at Drowne's door, while the captain threw it 

415 open, the marvellous apparition paused an instant on the 
threshold, assuming the very attitude of the image, and 
casting over the crowd that glance of sunny coquetry which 
all remembered on the face of the oaken lady. She and her 
cavalier then disappeared. 

420 " Ah ! " murmured the crowd, drawing a deep breath, as 
with one vast pair of lungs. 

"The world looks darker now that she has vanished,'^ 
said some of the young men. 

But the aged, whose recollections dated as far back as 

425 witch times, shook their heads, and hinted that our fore- 
fathers would have thought it a pious deed to burn the 
daughter of the oak with fire. 

" If she be other than a bubble of the elements," exclaimed 
Copley, '' I must look upon her face again." 

430 He accordingly entered the shop ; and there, in her usual 
corner, stood the image, gazing at him, as it might seem, 
with the very same expression of mirthful mischief that had 
been the farewell look of the apparition when, but a moment 
before, she turned her face towards the crowd. The carver 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 185 

stood beside his creation mending the beautiful fan, which 435 
by some accident was broken in her hand. But there was 
no longer any motion in the lifelike image, nor any real 
woman in the workshop, nor even the witchcraft of a sunny 
shadow, that might have deluded people's eyes as it flitted 
along the street. Captain Hunnewell, too, had vanished. 440 
His hoarse sea-breezy tones, however, were audible on the 
other side of a door that opened upon the water. 

" Sit down in the stern sheets, my lady," said the gallant 
captain. " Come, bear a hand, you lubbers, and set us on 
board in the turning of a minute-glass." 445 

And then was heard the stroke of oars. 

" Drowne," said Copley with a smile of intelligence, "you 
have been a truly fortunate man. What painter or statuary 
ever had such a subject ! No wonder that she inspired a 
genius into you, and first created the artist who afterwards 450 
created her image." 

Drowne looked at him with a visage that bore the traces 
of tears, but from which the light of imagination and sen- 
sibility, so recently illuminating it, had departed. He was 
again the mechanical carver that he had been known to be 455 
all his lifetime. 

" I hardly understand what you mean, Mr, Copley," said 
he, putting his hand to his brow. " This image ! Can it 
have been my work ? Well, I have wrought it in a kind of 
dream ; and now that I am broad awake I must set about 460 
finishing yonder figure of Admiral Vernon." 

And forthwith he employed himself on the stolid coun- 
tenance of one of his wooden progeny, and completed it in 
his own mechanical style, from which he was never known 
afterwards to deviate. He followed his business indus-465 
triously for many years, acquired a competence, and in the 
latter part of his life attained to a dignified station in the 
church, being remembered in records and traditions as 



186 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Deacon Drowne, the carver. One of his productions, an 

470 Indian chief, gilded all over, stood during the better part of 
a century on the cupola of the Province House, bedazzling 
the eyes of those who looked upward, like an angel of the 
sun. Another work of the good deacon's hand — a reduced 
likeness of his friend Captain Hunnewell, holding a tel- 

475escope and quadrant — may be seen to this day, at the cor- 
ner of Broad and State streets, serving in the useful capacity 
of sign to the shop -of a nautical instrument maker. We 
know not how to account for the inferiority of this quaint 
old figure, as compared with the recorded excellence of the 

480 Oaken Lady, unless on the supposition that in every human 
spirit there is imagination, sensibility, creative' power, gen- 
ius, which, according to circumstances, may either be de- 
veloped in this world, or shrouded in a mask of dulness 
until another state of being. To our friend Drowne there 

485 came a brief season of excitement, kindled by love. It ren- 
dered him a genius for that one occasion, but, quenched in 
disappointment, left him again the mechanical .carver in 
wood, without the power even of appreciating the work that 
his own hands had wrought. Yet who can doubt that the 

490 very highest state to which a human spirit can attain, in its 
loftiest aspirations, is its truest and most natural state, and 
that Drowne was more consistent with himself when he 
wrought the admirable figure of the mysterious lady, than 
when he perpetrated a whole progeny of blockheads ? 

495 There was a rumor in Boston, about this period, that a 
young Portuguese lady of rank, on some occasion of political 
or domestic disquietude, had fled from her home in Fayal 
and put herself under the protection of Captain Hunnewell, 
on board of whose vessel, and at whose residence she was 

500 sheltered until a change of affairs. This fair stranger must 
have been the original of Drowne's Wooden Image. 



JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 187 

JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 

Tour of William the Silent through Holland 

(From The Rise of the Dutch Republic, Part V, Chap. IH) 

At the popular request, the Prince afterwards made a tour 
through the little provinces, honoring every city with a brief 
visit. There were no triumphal arches, no martial music, 
no banners, no theatrical pageantry — nothing but the choral 
anthem from thousands of grateful hearts. " Father William 5 
has come! Father William has come!" cried men, women, 
and children to each other when the news of his arrival in 
town or village was announced. He was a patriarch visiting 
his children, not a conqueror, nor a vulgar potentate display- 
ing himself to his admirers. Happy were they who heard 10 
his voice, happier they who touched his hands, for his words 
were full of tenderness, his hand was offered to all. There 
were none so humble as to be forbidden to approach him, 
none so ignorant as not to know his deeds. 

He found time, notwithstanding the congratulating crowds 15 
who thronged his footsteps, to direct the labors of the states- 
general, who still looked more than ever to his guidance, as 
their relations with Don John became more complicated 
and unsatisfactory. In a letter addressed to them, on the 
20th of June, from Harlem, he warned them most eloquently 20 
to hold to the Ghent Pacification as to their anchor in the 
storm. He assured them, if it was torn from them, that 
their destruction was inevitable. He reminded them that 
hitherto they had got but the shadow, not the substance of 
the treaty ; that they had been robbed of that which was to 25 
have been its chief fruit — union among themselves. He 
and his brothers, with their labor, their wealth, and their 
blood, had laid down the bridge over which the country had 
stepped to the Pacification of Ghent. It was for the nation 



188 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

30 to maintain what had been so painfully won ; yet he pro- 
claimed to them that the government were not acting in 
good faith, that secret preparations were making to annihilate 
the authority of the states, to restore the edicts, to put 
strangers into high places, and to set up again the scaffold 

35 and the whole machinery of persecution. 

In consequence of the seizure of Namur Castle, and the 
accusations made by Don John against Orange, in order to 
justify that act, the Prince had already despatched Taffin and 
Saint Aldegonde to the states-general with a commission to 

40 declare his sentiments upon the subject. He addressed, 
moreover, to the same body a full letter of sincere and simple 
eloquence. " The Seigneur Don John," said he, " has accused 
me of violating the peace, and of countenancing attempts 
against his life, and is endeavouring to persuade you into 

45 joining him in a declaration of war against me and against 
Holland and Zealand ; but I pray you, most affectionately, 
to remember our mutual and solemn obligations to maintain 
the treaty of Ghent." He entreated the states, therefore, 
to beware of the artifices employed to seduce them from the 

50 only path which led to the tranquillity of their common 
country, and her true splendor and prosperity. " I believe 
there is not one of you," he continued, " who can doubt me, 
if he will weigh carefully all my actions, and consider 
closely the course which I am pursuing and have always 

55 pursued. Let all these be confronted with the conduct of 
Don John, and any man will perceive that all my views of 
happiness, both for my country and myself, imply a peace- 
able enjoyment of the union, joined with the legitimate 
restoration of our liberties, to which all good patriots aspire, 

60 and towards which all my designs have ever tended. As all 
the grandeur of Don John, on the contrary, consists in 
war, as there is nothing which he so abhors as repose, as he 
has given ample proof of these inclinations in all his designs 



JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY 189 

and enterprises, both before and after the treaty of Marche 
en Famine, both within the country and beyond its borders, 65 
as it is most manifest that his purpose is, and ever has been, 
to embroil us with our neighbors of England and Scotland 
in new dissensions, as it must be evident to every one of you 
that his pretended accusations against me are but colors and 
shadows to embellish and to shroud his own desire for war, 70 
his appetite for vengeance, and his hatred not only to me 
but to yourselves, and as his determination is, in the words 
of Escovedo, to chastize some of us by means of the rest, 
and to excite the jealousy of one portion of the country 
against the other — therefore, gentlemen, do I most affec-75 
tionately exhort you to found your decision, as to these 
matters, not upon words, but upon actions. Examine care- 
fully my conduct in the points concerning which the charges 
are made ; listen attentively to what my envoys will com- 
municate to you in my behalf ; and then, having compared it 80 
with all the proceedings of Seigneur Don John, you will be 
able to form a resolution worthy the rank which you occupy, 
and befitting your obligations to the whole people, of whom 
you have been chosen chiefs and protectors by God and by 
men. Put away all considerations which might obscure your 85 
clear eye-sight ; maintain with magnanimity, and like men, 
the safety of yourselves, your wives, your children, your es- 
tates, your liberties ; see that this poor people, whose eyes 
are fixed upon you, does not perish ; preserve them from the 
greediness of those who would grow great at your expense ; 90 
guard them from the yoke of miserable servitude ; let not 
all our posterity lament that, by our pusillanimity, they 
have lost the liberties which our ancestors had conquered 
for them, and bequeathed to them as well as to us, and that 
they have been subjugated by the proud tyranny of strangers. 95 

" Trusting," said the Prince, in conclusion, " that you will 
accord faith and attention to my envoys, I will only add an 



190 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

expression of my sincere determination to employ myself 
incessantly in your service, and for the welfare of the whole 

100 people, without sparing any means in my power, nor my 
life itself." 

The vigilant Prince was indeed not slow to take advantage 
of the Governor's false move. While in reality intending 
peace, if it were possible, Don John had thrown the gaunt- 

105 let; while affecting to deal openly and manfully, like a 
warrior and an emperor's son, he had involved himself in 
petty stratagems and transparent intrigues, by all which he 
had gained nothing but the character of a plotter, whose 
word could not be trusted. Saint Aldegonde expressed the 

110 hope that the seizure of Namur Castle would open the eyes 
of the people, and certainly the Prince did his best to 
sharpen their vision. 

While in North Holland, William of Orange received an 
urgent invitation from the magistracy and community of 

115 Utrecht to visit that city. His authority, belonging to him 
under his ancient commission, had not yet been recognized 
over that province, but there was no doubt that the contem- 
plated convention of " Satisfaction " was soon to be arranged, 
for his friends there were numerous and influential. His 

120 princess, Charlotte de Bourbon, who accompanied him on his 
tour, trembled at the danger to which her husband would 
expose himself by venturing thus boldly into a territory 
which might be full of his enemies, but the Prince deter- 
mined to trust the loyalty of a province which he hoped 

125 would be soon his own. With anxious forebodings, the 
Princess followed her husband to the ancient episcopal city. 
As they entered its gates, where an immense concourse was 
waiting to receive him, a shot passed through the carriage 
window, and struck the Prince upon the breast. The af- 

130 frighted lady threw her arms about his neck, shrieking that 
they were betrayed, but the Prince, perceiving that the 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON 191 

supposed shot was but a wad from one of the cannon, which 
were still roaring their welcome to him, soon succeeded in 
calming her fears. The carriage passed slowly through the 
streets, attended by the vociferous greetings of the raulti- 1,35 
tude ; for the whole population had come forth to do him 
honor. The citizens of Utrecht became more than ever in- 
clined to accept the dominion of the Prince, and it was cer- 
tain before he took his departure that the treaty of " Satis- 
faction " would not be long delayed. It was drawn up, 140 
accordingly, in the autumn of the same year, upon the basis 
of that accepted by Harlem and Amsterdam — a basis wide 
enough to support both religions, with a nominal supremacy 
to the ancient Church. 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON 
The Rhodora: 

ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? 

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 

I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 

Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 

To please the desert and the sluggish brook. 

The purple petals, fallen in the pool," 5 

Made the black water with their beauty gay; 

Here might the redbird come his plumes to cool, 

And court the flower that cheapens his array. 

Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 

This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, 10 

Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing. 

Then Beauty is its own excuse for being : 

Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose ! 

I never thought to ask, I never knew : 

But, in my simple ignorance, suppose 15 

The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. 



192 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

The Apology 

Think me not unkind and rude 

That I walk alone in grove and glen; 

I go to the god of the wood 
To fetch his word to men. 

5 Tax not my sloth that I 

Fold my arms beside the brook ; 
Each cloud that floated in the sky 
Writes a letter in my book. 

Chide me not, laborious band, 
10 For the idle flowers I brought; 

Every aster in my hand 

Goes home loaded with a thought. 

There was never mystery 

But 'tis figured in the flowers ; 
15 Was never secret history 

But birds tell it in the bowers. 

One harvest from thy field 

Homeward brought the oxen strong ; 
A second crop thine acres yield, 
20 Which I gather in a song. 

Concord Hymn 

(Sung at the Completion of the Battle Monument, July 4, 1837) 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled. 

Here once the embattled farmers stood 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

5 . The foe long since in silence slept ; 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON 193 

On this green bank, by this soft stream, 

We set to-day a votive stone : 10 

That memory may their deed redeem. 

When like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit, that made those heroes dare 

To die, and leave their children free. 
Bid Time and Nature gently spare 15 

The shaft we raise to them and thee. 



The Humble-Bee 

Burly, dozing humble-bee, 

Where thou art is clime for me. 

Let them sail for Porto Rique, 

Far-off heats through seas to seek ; 

I will follow thee alone, 5 

Thou animated torrid-zone ! 

Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, 

Let me chase thy waving lines; 

Keep me nearer, me thy hearer. 

Singing over shrubs and vines. lo 

Insect lover of the sun, 

Joy of thy dominion ! 

Sailor of the atmosphere; 

Swimmer through the waves of air ; 

Voyager of light and noon ; 15 

Epicurean of June; 

Wait, I prithee, till I come 

Within earshot of thy hum, — 

All without is martyrdom. 

When the south wind, in May days, 20 

With a net of shining haze 

Silvers the horizon wall. 

And with softness touching all. 



194 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Tints the luiman countenance 
25 With a color of romance, 

And infusing subtle heats, 
Turns the sod to violets. 
Thou, in sunny solitudes, 
Rover of the underwoods, 
30 The green silence dost displace 

With thy mellow, breezy bass. 

Hot midsummer's petted crone, 
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone 
Tells of countless sunny hours, 
35 Long days, and solid banks of flowers; 

Of gulfs of sweetness without bound 
In Indian wildernesses found ; 
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, 
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure. 

40 Aught unsavory or unclean 

Hath my insect never seen ; 
But violets and bilberry bells, 
Maple-sap and daffodels, 
Grass with green flag half-mast high, 

45 Succory to match the sky. 

Columbine with horn of honey, 
Scented fern, and agrimony. 
Clover, catchfly, adder's-tongue 
And brier-roses, dwelt among; 

50 All beside was unknown waste, 

All was picture as he passed. 

Wiser far than human seer, 
Yellow-breeched philosopher! 
Seeing only what is fair, 
55 Sipping only what is sweet. 

Thou dost mock at fate and care. 
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat. 
When the fierce northwestern blast 
Cools sea and land so far and fast, 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON 195 

Thou already sluiriberest deep ; 
Woe and want thou canst outsleep; 
Want and woe, which torture us, 
Thy sleep makes ridiculous. 



Terminus 

It is time to be old. 

To take in sail : — 

The god of bounds, 

Who sets to seas a shore, 

Came to me in his fatal rounds, 5 

And said : ' No more ! 

No farther shoot 

Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root. 

Fancy departs : no more invent ; 

Contract thy firmament 10 

To compass of a tent. 

There's not enough for this and that. 

Make thy option which of two ; 

Economize the failing river. 

Not the less revere the Giver, 15 

Leave the many and hold the few. 

Timely wise accept the terms, 

Soften the fall with wary foot ; 

A little while 

Still plan and smile, . 20 

And, — fault of novel germs, ^- 

Mature the unfallen fruit. 

Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires. 

Bad husbands of their fires, 

Who, when they gave thee breath, 25 

Failed to bequeath 

The needful sinew stark as once, 

The Baresark marrow to thy bones. 

But left a legacy of ebbing veins, 

Inconstant heat and nerveless reins, — 30 



196 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb, 
Amid the gladiators, halt and numb.' 

As the bird trims her to the gale, 
I trim myself to the storm of time, 

35 I man the rudder, reef the sail, 

Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime : 

'Lowly faithful, banish fear, 

Right onward drive unharmed ; 

The port, well worth the cruise, is near, 

40 And every wave is charmed.' 



The Nature of Government 

{From Politics) 

In this country, we are very vain of our political institu- 
tions, which are singular in this, that they sprung, within 
the memory of living men, from the character and condition 
of the people, which they still express w^ith sufficient fidel- 

sity, — and we ostentatiously prefer them to any other in 

• history. They are not better, but only fitter for us. We 

may be wise in asserting the advantage in modern times of 

the democratic form, but to other states of society, in which 

religion consecrated the monarchical, that and not this was 

10 expedient. Democracy is better for us, because the religious 
sentiment of the present time accords better with it. Born 
democrats, we are nowise qualified to judge of monarchy, 
which, to our fathers living in the mjonarchical idea, was 
also relatively right. But our institutions, though in coin- 

15 cidence with the spirit of the age, have not any exemption 
from the practical defects which have discredited other 
forms. Every actual State is corrupt. Good men must 
not obey the laws too well. What satire on government 
can equal the severity of censure conveyed in the wordj^oZ- 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON 197 

itic, which now for ages has signified cunning, intimating 20 
that the State is a trick ? 

The same benign necessity and the same practical abuse 
appear in the parties into which each State divides itself, 
of opponents and defenders of the administration of the 
government. Parties are also founded on instincts, and 25 
have better guides to their own humble aims than the sagac- 
ity of their leaders. They have nothing perverse in their 
origin, but rudely mark some real and lasting relation. We 
might as wisely reprove the east wind, or the frost, as a 
political part}^, whose members, for the most part, could 30 
give no account of their position, but stand for the defense 
of those interests in which they find themselves. Our 
quarrel with them begins, when they quit this deep natural 
ground at the bidding of some leader, and, obeying personal 
considerations, throw themselves into the maintenance and 35 
defense of points nowise belonging to their system. A 
party is perpetually corrupted by personality. While we 
absolve the association from dishonesty we cannot extend 
the same charity to their leaders. They reap the rewards 
of the docility and zeal of the masses which they direct. 40 
Ordinarily our parties are parties of circumstance and not 
of principle; as the planting interest in conflict with the 
commercial ; the party of capitalists, and that of operatives ; 
parties which are identical in their moral character, and 
which can easily change ground with each other, in the 45 
support of many of their measures. Parties of principle, as 
religious sects, or the party of free-trade, of universal suf- 
frage, of abolition of slavery, of abolition of capital punish- 
ment, degenerate into personalities, or would inspire enthu- 
siasm. The vice of our leading parties in this country 50 
(which may be cited as a fair specimen of these societies of 
opinion) is, that they do not plant themselves on the deep 
and necessary grounds to which they are respectively en- 



198 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

titled, but lash themselves to fury in the carrying of some 

55 local and momentary measure, nowise useful to the common- 
wealth. Of the two great parties, which, at this hour, 
almost share the nation between them, I should say, that 
one has the best cause, and the other contains the best men. 
The philosopher, the poet, or the religious man, will, of 

60 course, wish to cast his vote with the democrat, for free- 
trade, for wide suffrage, for the abolition of legal cruelties 
in the penal code, and for facilitating in . every manner the 
access of the young and the poor to the sources of wealth 
and power. But he can rarely accept the persons whom 

65 the so-called popular party proposes to him as representatives 
of these liberalities. They have not at heart the ends 
which give to the name of democracy what hope and virtue 
are in it. The spirit of our American radicalism is destruc- 
tive and aimless : it is not loving ; it has no ulterior and 

70 divine ends ; but is destructive only out of hatred and 
selfishness. On the other side, the conservative party, com- 
posed of the most moderate, able, and cultivated part of 
the population, is timid, and merely defensive of property. 
It vindicates no right, it aspires to no real good, it brands no 

75 crime, it proposes no generous policy, it does not build, nor 
write, nor cherish the arts, nor foster religion, nor establish 
schools, nor encourage science, nor emancipate the slave, nor 
befriend the poor, or the Indian, or the immigrant. From 
neither party, when in power, has the world any benefit to 

80 expect in science, art, or humanity at all commensurate with 
the resources of the nation. 

I do not for these defects despair of our republic. We 
are not at the mercy of any waves of chance. In the strife 
of ferocious parties, human nature always finds itself cher- 

85 ished, as the children of the convicts at Botany Bay are 
found to have as healthy a moral sentiment as other children. 
Citizens of feudal states are alarmed at our democratic insti- 



RALPH WALDO EMERSON 199 

tutions lapsing into anarchy ; and the older and more cau- 
tious among ourselves are learning from Europeans to look 
with some terror at our turbulent freedom. It is said that 90 
in our license of construing the Constitution, and in the des- 
potism of public opinion, we have no anchor ; and one foreign 
observer thinks he has found the safeguard in the sanctity 
of Marriage among us ; and another thinks he has found it 
in our Calvinism. Fisher Ames expressed the popular secu- 95 
rity more wisely, when he compared a monarchy and a 
republic, saying, " that a monarchy is a merchantman, 
which sails well, but will sometimes strike on a rock, and go 
to the bottom ; whilst a republic is a raft, which would never 
sink, but then your feet are always in water." No forms can lOO 
have any dangerous importance, whilst we are befriended 
by the laws of things. It makes no difference how many 
tons' weight of atmosphere presses on our heads, so long as 
the same pressure resists it within the lungs. Augment the 
mass a thousand fold, it cannot begin to crush us, as long as 105 
reaction is equal to action. The fact of two poles, of two 
forces, centripetal and centrifugal, is universal, and each 
force by its own activity develops the other. Wild liberty 
develops iron conscience. Want of liberty, by strengthening 
law and decorum, stupefies conscience. "Lynch-law'' pre- no 
vails only where there is greater hardihood and self-subsist- 
ency in the leaders. A mob cannot be a permanency : 
everybody's interest requires that it should not exist, and 
only justice satisfies all. 

We must trust infinitely to the beneficent necessity which lis 
shines through all laws. Human nature expresses itself in 
them as characteristically as in statues, or songs, or railroads, 
and an abstract of the codes of nations would be a transcript 
of the common conscience. Governments have their origin 
in the moral identity of men. Reason for one is seen to be 120 
reason for another, and for every other. There is a middle 



200 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

measure which satisfies all parties, be they never so many, 
or so resolute for their own. Every man finds a sanction 
for his simplest claims and deeds in decisions of his own 

125 mind, which he calls Truth and Holiness. In these decisions 
all the citizens find a perfect agreement, and only in these ; 
not in what is good to eat, good to wear, good use of time, 
or what amount of land, or of public aid, each is entitled to 
claim. This truth and justice men presently endeavor to 

130 make application of, to the measuring of land, the apportion- 
ment of service, the protection of life and property. Their 
first endeavors, no doubt, are very awkward. Yet absolute 
right is the first governor ; or, every government is an impure 
theocracy. The idea, after which each community is aiming 

135 to make and mend its law, is the will of the wise man. The 
wise man, it cannot find in nature, and it makes awkward 
but earnest efforts to secure his government by contrivance ; 
as, by causing the entire people to give their voices on every 
measure ; or, by a double choice to get the representation of 

140 the whole; or, by a selection of the best citizens; or, to 
secure the advantages of efficiency and internal peace, by 
confiding the government to one, who may himself select his 
agents. All forms of government symbolize an immortal 
government, common to all dynasties and independent of 

145 numbers, perfect where two men exist, perfect where there 
is only one man. 

HENRY DAVID THOREAU 

The Coming of the Birds 

{From Early Spring in Massachusetts) 

March 18, 1858. How much more habitable a few birds 
make the fields ! At the end of the winter, when the fields 
are bare, and there is nothing to relieve the monotony of 
withered vegetation, our life seems reduced to its lowest 



HENRY DAVID THOREAU 201 

terms. But let a bluebird come and warble over them, and 5 
what a change ! The note of the first bluebird in the air 
answers to the purling rill of melted snow beneath. It is 
evidently soft and soothing, and, as surely as the thermom- 
eter, indicates a higher temperature. It is the accent of the 
south wind, its vernacular. It is modulated by the south lo 
wind. 

The song-sparrow is more sprightly, mingling its notes 
with the rustling of the brush along the water sides, but it 
is at the same time more terrene than the bluebird. The 
first woodpecker comes screaming into the empty house, and 15 
throws open doors and windows wide, calling out each 
of them to let the neighbors know of its return. But heard 
farther off it is very suggestive of ineffable associations, 
which cannot be distinctly recalled, of long-drawn summer 
hours, and thus it also has the effect of music. I was not 20 
aware that the capacity to hear the woodpecker had slum- 
bered within me so long. When the blackbird gets to a con- 
queree he seems to be dreaming of the sprays that are to be 
and on which he will perch. The robin does not come singing, 
but utters a somewhat anxious or inquisitive peep at first. 25 
The songsparrow is immediately most at home of those I 
have named. 

Each new year is a surprise to us. We find that we had 
virtually forgotten the note of each bird, and when we hear 
it again, it is remembered like a dream, reminding us of a 30 
previous state of -existence. How happens it that the asso- 
ciations it awakens are always pleasing, never saddening, 
reminiscences of our sanest hours. The voice of nature is 
always encouraging. 

When I get two thirds up the hill, I look round, and am 35 
for the hundredth time surprised by the landscape of the 
river valley and the horizon with its distant blue-scalloped 
rim. It is a spring landscape, and as impossible a fortnight 



202 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

ago as the song of birds. It is a deeper and warmer blue than 

40 in winter, methinks. The snow is off the mountains, which 
seem even to have come again like the birds. The undu- 
lating river is a bright blue channel between sharp-edged 
shores of ice retained by the willows. The wind blows 
strong but warm from west by north (so that I have to hold 

45 my paper tight while I write this), making the copses creak 
and roar, but the sharp tinkle of a song-sparrow is heard 
through it all. But, ah ! the needles of the pine, how they 
shine, as I look down over the Holden wood and westward ! 
Every third tree is lit with the most subdued, but clear, 

50 ethereal light, as if it were the most delicate frost-work in 
a winter morning, reflecting no heat, but only light. And 
as they rock and wave in the strong wind, even a mile off, 
the light courses up and down them as over a field of grain, 
i.e., they are alternately light and dark, like looms above 

55 the forest, when the shuttle is thrown between the light 
woof and the dark web. At sight of this my spirit is like 
a lit tree. It runs or flashes over their parallel boughs as 
when you play with the teeth of a comb. Not only osiers, 
but pine needles, shine brighter, I think, in the spring, and 

60 arrowheads and railroad rails, etc., etc. Anacreon noticed 
this spring shining. Is it not from the higher sun and 
cleansed air and greater animation of nature ? There is a 
warmer red on the leaves of the shrub oak and on the tail 
of the hawk circling over them. 

Maimed Nature 

{From Early Spring in Massachusetts) 

March 23, 1856. I spend a considerable portion of my time 
observing the habits of the wild animals, my brute neigh- 
bors. By their various movements and migrations they fetch 
the year about to me. Very significant are the flight of geese 



HENRY DAVID THOREAU 203 

and the migration of suckers, etc. But when I consider that 5 
the nobler animals have been exterminated here, the cougar, 
panther, lynx, wolverine, wolf, bear, moose, deer, beaver, 
turkey, etc., etc., I cannot but feel as if I lived in a tamed 
and, as it were, emasculated country. Would not the mo- 
tions of those larger and wilder animals have been more lO 
significant still ? Is it not a maimed and imperfect nature 
that I am conversant with ? As if I were to study a tribe 
of Indians that had lost all its warriors. Do not the forest 
and the meadow now lack expression ? now that I never see 
nor think of the moose with a lesser forest on his head in 15 
the one, nor of the beaver in the other ? When I think what 
were the various sounds and notes, the migrations and works, 
and changes of fur and plumage, which ushered in the spring 
and marked the other seasons of the year, I am reminded 
that this my life in nature, this particular round of natural 20 
phenomena which I call a year, is lamentably incomplete. 
I listen to a concert in which so many parts are wanting. 
The whole civilized country is, to some extent, turned into 
a city, and I am that citizen whom I pity. Many of those 
animal migrations and other phenomena by which the 25 
Indians marked the season are no longer to be observed. I 
seek acquaintance with Nature to know her moods and 
manners. Primitive nature is the most interesting to me. 
I take infinite pains to know all the phenomena of the springy 
for instance, thinking that I have here the entire poem, and 30 
then, to my chagrin, I learn tha,t it is but an imperfect copy 
that I possess and have read, that my ancestors have torn 
out many of the first leaves and grandest passages, and 
mutilated it in many places. I should not like to think that 
some demigod had come before me and picked out some of 35 
the best of the stars. I wish to know an entire heaven and 
an entire earth. All the great trees and beasts, fishes and 
fowl are gone ; the streams perchance are somewhat shrunk. 



204 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
The Beleaguered City 

I have read, m some old, marvellous tale, 
Some legend strange and vague, 

That a midnight host of spectres pale 
Beleaguered the walls of Prague. 

5 Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 

With the wan moon overhead. 
There stood, as in an awful dream, 
The army of the dead. 

White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 
^0 The spectral camp was seen, 

And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
The river flowed between. 

No other voice nor sound was there. 
No drum, nor sentry's pace ; 
15 The mist-like banners clasped the air 

As clouds with clouds embrace. 

But when the old cathedral bell 

Proclaimed the morning prayer. 
The white pavilions rose and fell 
20 On the alarmed air. 

Down the broad valley fast and far 

The troubled army fled ; 
Up rose the glorious morning star. 

The ghastly host was dead. 

25 I have read, in the marvellous heart of man. 

That strange and mystic scroll. 
That an army of phantoms vast and wan 
Beleaguer the human soul. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 205 

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream, 

In Fancy's misty light, 30 

Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam 

Portentous through the night. 

Upon its midnight battle-ground 

The spectral camp is seen. 
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound, 35 

Flows the River of Life between. 

No other voice nor sound is there, 

In the army of the grave ; 
No other challenge breaks the air, 

But the rushing of Life's wave." 40 

And when the solemn and deep church-bell 

Entreats the soul to pray, 
The midnight phantoms feel the spell, 

The shadows sweep away. 

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar 45 

The spectral camp is fled ; 
Faith shineth as a morning star, 

Our ghastly fears are dead. 

The Building of the Ship 

* Build me straight, O worthy Master ! 

Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel. 
That shall laugh at all disaster, 

And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! ' 

The merchant's word 6 

Delighted the Master heard ; 

For his heart was in his work, and the heart 

Giveth grace unto every Art. 

A quiet smile played round his lips. 

As the eddies and dimples of the tide lO 

Play round the bows of ships 

That steadily at anchor ride. 



206 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

And with a voice tliat was full of glee, 
He answered, ' Erelong we will launch 

15 A vessel as goodly, and strong, and stanch, 

As ever weathered a wintry sea ! ' 
And first with nicest skill and art, 
Perfect and finished in every part, 
A little model the Master wrought, 

20 Which should be to the larger plan 

What the child is to the man, 
Its counterpart in miniature ; 
That with a hand more swift and sure 
The greater labor might be brought 

25 To answer to his inward thought. 

And as he labored, his mind ran o'er 
The various ships that were built of yore. 
And above them all, and strangest of all 
Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall, 

30 Whose picture was hanging on the wall, 

With bows and stern raised high in air, 
And balconies hanging here and there, 
And signal lanterns and flags afloat. 
And eight round towers, like those that frown 

35 From some old castle, looking down 

Upon the drawbridge and the moat. 
And he said with a smile, ' Our ship, I wis, 
Shall be of another form than this ! ' 
It was of another form, indeed ; 

40 Built for freight, and yet for speed, 

A beautiful and gallant craft ; 
Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, 
Pressing down upon sail and mast. 
Might not the sharp bows overwhelm ; 

45 Broad in the beam, but sloping aft 

With graceful curve and slow degrees. 
That she might be docile to the helm, 
And that the currents of parted seas, 
Closing behind, with mighty force, 

50 Might aid and not impede her course. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 207 

In the ship-yard stood the Master, 
With the model of the vessel, 
That should laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whiilwind wrestle ! 

Covering many a rood of ground, 55 

Lay the timber piled around ; 

Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak. 

And scattered here and there, with these. 

The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; 

Brought from regions far away, 60 

From Pascagoula's sunny bay. 

And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! 

Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is 

To note how many wheels of toil 

One thought, one word, can set in motion! 65 

There's not a ship that sails the ocean. 

But every climate, every soil, 

Must bring its tribute, great or small. 

And help to build the wooden wall ! 

The sun was rising o'er the sea, 70 

And long the level shadows lay, 

As if they, too, the beams would be 

Of some great, airy argosy. 

Framed and launched in a single day. 

That silent architect, the sun, 75 

Had hewn and laid them every one, 

Ere the work of man was yet begun. 

Beside the Master, when he spoke, 

A youth, against an anchor leaning. 

Listened, to catch his slightest meaning, 80 

Only the long waves, as they broke 

In ripples on the pebbly beach. 

Interrupted the old man's speech. 

Beautiful they were, in sooth, 

The old man and the fiery youth ! 85 



208 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

The old man, in whose busy brain 

Many a ship that sailed the main 

Was modelled o'er and o'er again ; 

The fiery youth, who was to be 
90 The heir of his dexterity, 

The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand, 

When he had built and launched from land 

What the elder head had planned. 

' Thus,' said he, ' will we build this ship ! 
95 Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 

And follow well this plan of mine. 

Choose the timbers with greatest care ; 

Of all that is unsound beware ; 

For only what is sound and strong 
100 To this vessel shall belong. 

Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 

Here together shall combine. 

A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, 

And the Union be her name ! 
105 For the day that gives her to the sea 

Shall give my daughter unto thee ! ' 



The Master's word 

Enraptured the young man heard ; 

And as he turned his face aside, 
110 With a look of joy and a thrill of pride 

Standing before 

Her father's door, 

He saw the form of his promised bride. 

The sun shone on her golden hair, 
115 And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair, 

With the breath of morn and the soft sea air 

Like a beauteous barge was she, 

Still at rest on the sandy beach, 

Just beyond the billow's reach ; 
120 But he 

Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 209 

Ah, how skilful grows the hand 

That obeyeth Love's command ! 

It is the heart, and not the brain, 

That to the highest doth attain, j^25 

And he who followeth Love's behest 

Far excelleth all the rest ! 



Thus with the rising of the sun 

Was the noble task begun, 

And soon throughout the ship-yard's bounds 130 

Were heard the intermingled sounds 

Of axes and of mallets, plied 

With vigorous arms on every side ; 

Plied so deftly and so well, 

That, ere the shadows of evening fell, J35 

The keel of oak for a noble ship. 

Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, 

Was lying ready, and stretched along 

The blocks, well placed upon the slip. 

Happy, thrice happy, every one ^^q 

Who sees his labor well begun, 

And not perplexed and multiplied. 

By idly waiting for time and tide ! 

And when the hot, long day was o'er. 

The young man at the Master's door 145 

Sat with the maiden calm and still, 

And within the porch, a little more 

Removed beyond the evening chill. 

The father sat, and told them tales 

Of wrecks in the great September gales, 150 

Of pirates coasting the Spanish Main, 

And ships that never came back again, 

The chance and change of a sailor's life. 

Want and plenty, rest and strife, 

His roving fancy, like the wind, 155 

That nothing can stay and nothing can bind, 



210 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

And the magic charm of foreign lands, 
With shadows of pahns, and shining sands, 
Where the tumbling surf, 

160 O'er the coral reefs of Madagascar, 

Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 
As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. 
And the trembling maiden held her breath 
At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, 

165 With all its terror and mystery, 

The dim, dark sea, so like unto Death, 
That divides and yet unites mankind ! 
And whenever the old man paused, a gleam 
From the bowl of his pipe would awhile illume 

170 The silent group in the twilight gloom. 

And thoughtful faces, as in a dream; 
And for a moment one might mark 
What had been hidden by the dark. 
That the head of the maiden lay at rest, 

175 Tenderly, on the young man's breast ! 

Day by day the vessel grew. 
With timbers fashioned strong and true, 
Stemson and keelson and sternson-knee. 
Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 

180 A skeleton ship rose up to view ! 

And around the bows and along the side 
The heavy hammers and mallets plied, 
Till after many a week, at length. 
Wonderful for form and strength, 

185 Sublime in its enormous bulk. 

Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! 
And around it columns of smoke, upwreathing, 
Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seething 
Caldron, that glowed, 

190 And overflowed 

With the black tar, heated for the sheathing. 
And amid the clamors 
Of clattering hammers. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 211 

He who listened heard now and then 

The song of the Master and his men : — 195 

* Build me straight, O worthy Master, 

Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
That shall laugh at all disaster, 

And with yvave and whirlwind wrestle ! ' 

With oaken brace and copper band, 200 

Lay the rudder on the sand. 

That, like a thought, should have control 

Over the movement of the whole ; 

And near it the anchor, whose giant hand 

Woiild reach down and grapple with the land, 205 

And immovable and fast 

Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast ! 

And at the bows an image stood, 

By a cunning artist carved in wood. 

With robes of white, that far behind 

Seemed to be fluttering in the wind. 

It was not shaped in a classic mould, 

Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old, 

Or Naiad rising from the w^ater. 

But modelled from the Master's daughter ! 215 

On many a dreary and misty night, 

'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light. 

Speeding along through the rain and the dark, 

Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, 

The pilot of some phantom bark, .5.,^ 

Guiding the vessel, in its flight, 

By a path none other knows aright ! 

Behold, at last, 

Each tall and tapering mast 

Is swung into its place ; 225 

Shrouds and stays 

Holding it firm and fast ! 



210 



212 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Long ago, 

In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 
230 When upon mountain and plain 

Lay the snow. 

They fell, — those lordly pines ! 

Those grand, majestic pines ! 

'Mid shouts and cheers 
235 The jaded steers. 

Panting beneath the goad. 

Dragged down the weary, winding road 

Those captive kings so straight and tall, 

To be shorn of their streaming hair, 
240 And naked and bare. 

To feel the stress and the strain 

Of the wind and the reeling main. 

Whose roar 

Would remind them forevermore 
245 Of their native forests they should not see again. 

And everywhere 

The slender, graceful spars 

Poise aloft in the air. 

And at the mast-head, 
250 White, blue, and red, 

A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. 

Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless. 

In foreign harbors shall behold 

That flag unrolled, 
255 'Twill be as a friendly hand 

Stretched out from his native land. 

Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless! 



All is finished ! and at length 
Has come the bridal day 
260 Of beauty and of strength. 

To-day the vessel shall be launched ! 
With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched. 
And o'er, the bay. 



HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW 213 

Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 

The great sun rises to behold the sight. 265 

The ocean old, 

Centuries old, 

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, 

Paces restless to and fro, 

Up and down the sands of gold. 270 

His beating heart is not at rest ; 

And far and wide, 

With ceaseless flow. 

His beard of snow 

Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 275 

He waits impatient for his bride. 

There she stands, 

With her foot upon the sands, 

Decked with flags and streamers gay, 

In honor of her marriage day, 280 

Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending. 

Round her like a veil descending, 

Ready to be 

The bride of the gray old sea. 

On the deck another bride • 285 

Is standing by her lover's side. 

Shadows from the flags and shrouds. 

Like the shadows cast by clouds. 

Broken by many a sudden fleck, 

Fall around them on the deck. 290 

The prayer is said, 

The service read. 

The joyous bridegroom bows his head; 

And in tears the good old Master 

Shakes the brown hand of his son, 295 

Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 

In silence, for he cannot speak. 

And ever faster 

Down his own the tears begin to run. 



214 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

300 The worthy pastor — 

The shepherd of that wandering flock, 
That has the ocean for its wold, 
That has the vessel for its fold. 
Leaping ever from rock to rock — 
305 Spake, with accents mild and clear. 

Words of warning, words of cheer. 
But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. 
He knew the chart 
Of the sailor's heart, 
310 AH its pleasures and its griefs, 

All its shallows and rocky reefs. 
All those secret currents, that flow 
With such resistless undertow. 
And lift and drift, with terrible force, 
315 The will from its moorings and its course. 

Therefore he spake, and thus said he : — 
' Like unto ships far off at sea, 
Outward or homeward bound, are we. 
Before, behind, and all around, 
320 Floats and swings the horizon's bound. 

Seems at its distant rim to rise 
And climb the crystal wall of the skies, 
And then again to turn and sink, 
As if we could slide from its outer brink. 
325 Ah ! it is not the sea. 

It is not the sea that sinks and shelves. 
But ourselves 
That rock and rise 
With endless and uneasy motion, 
330 Now touching the very skies, 

Now sinking into the depths of ocean. 
Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing 
Like the compass in its brazen ring. 
Ever level and ever true 
335 To the toil and the task we have to do, 

We shall sail securely, and safely reach 
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 215 

The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, 
Will be those of joy and not of fear ! ' 

Then the Master, 340 

With a gesture of command, 

Waved his hand ; 

And at the word. 

Loud and sudden there was heard. 

All around them and below, 345 

The sound of hammers, blow on blow. 

Knocking away the shores and spurs. 

And see ! she stirs ! 

She starts, — she moves, — she seems to feel 

The thrill of life along her keel, 35O 

And, spurning with her foot the ground, 

With one exulting, joyous bound. 

She leaps into the ocean's arms ! 

And lo ! from the assembled crowd 

There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 355 

That to the ocean seemed to say, 

' Take her, O bridegroom, old and gray. 

Take her to thy protecting arms, 

With all her youth and all her charms !' 

How beautiful she is ! How fair 360 

She lies within those arms, that press 

Her form with many a soft caress 

Of tenderness and watchful care ! 

Sail forth into the sea, O ship ! 

Through wind and wave, right onward steer ! 365 

The moistened eye, the trembling lip. 

Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 

Sail forth into the sea of life, 

O gentle, loving, trusting wife, 

And safe from all adversity 370 

Upon the bosom of that sea 

Thy comings and thy goings be ! 



216 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

For gentleness and love and trust 
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust; 
375 And in the wreck of noble lives 

Something immortal still survives! 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of state ! 
Sail on O Union, strong and great ! 
Humanity with all its fears, 

380 With all the hopes of future years. 

Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
We know what Master laid thy keel, 
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 

385 What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 

In what a forge and what a heat 
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 
Fear not each sudden sound and shock, 
'Tis of the wave and not the rock ; 

390 'Tis but the flapping of the sail. 

And not a rent made by the gale ! 
In spite of rock and tempest's roar, 
In spite of false lights on the shore. 
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 

395 Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears. 
Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! 

Hiawatha's Wooing 

{From The Song of Hiawatha) 

' As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman ; 
Though she bends him, she obeys him. 
Though she draws him, yet she follows ; 
5 Useless each without the other ! ' 

Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 217 

Much perplexed by various feelings, 

Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 

Dream-ing still of Minnehaha, 10 

Of the lovely Laughing Water, 

In the land of the Dacotahs. 

' Wed a maiden of your people,' 
Warning said the old Nokoniis ; 

' Go not eastward, go not westward, 15 

For a stranger, whom we know not! 
Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers ! ' 20 

Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : ' Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight, 

But I like the starlight better, 25 

Better do I like the moonlight ! ' 

Gravely then said old Nokomis : 

< Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman, 

Hands unskilful, feet unwilling ; 30 

Bring a wife with nimble fingers. 
Heart and hand that move together, 
Feet that run on willing errands ! ' 
Smiling answered Hiawatha : 

< In the land of the Dacotahs 35 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, 

Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 

Handsomest of all the women. 

I will bring her to your wigwam. 

She shall run upon your errands, 40 

Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 

Be the sunlight of my people ! ' 

Still dissuading said Nokomis : 
' Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Dacotahs ! 45 



218 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Very fierce are the Dacotahs, 
Often is there war between us, 
There are feuds yet unforgotten, 
Wounds that ache and still may open ! ' 

50 Laughing answered Hiawatha : 

' For that reason, if no other, 
Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united, 
That old feuds might be forgotten, 

55 And old wounds be healed forever ! ' 

Thus departed Hiawatha 
To the land of the Dacotahs, 
To the land of handsome women ; 
Striding over moor and meadow, 

60 Through interminable forests. 

Through uninterrupted silence. 
With his moccasins of magic. 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Yet the way seemed long before him, 

65 And his heart outran his footsteps ; 

And he journeyed without resting. 
Till he heard the cataract's laughter. 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to him through the silence. 

70 ' Pleasant is the sound ! ' he murmured, 

' Pleasant is the voice that calls me ! ' 

On the outskirts of the forests, 
'Twixt the shadow and the sunshine, 
Herds of fallow deer were feeding, 

75 But they saw not Hiawatha ; 

To his bow he whispered, ' Fail not ! ' 
To his arrow whispered, ' Swerve not ! ' 
Sent it singing on its errand, 
To the red heart of the roebuck; 

80 Threw the deer across his shoulder, 

And sped forward without pausing. 

At the doorway of his wigwam 
Sat the ancient Arrow-maker, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 219 

In the land of the Dacotahs, 

Making arrow-heads of jasper 85 

Arrow-heads of chalcedony. 

At his side, in all her beauty, 

Sat the lovely Minnehaha, 

Sat his daughter, Laughing Water, 

Plaiting mats of flags and rushes ; • 90 

Of the past the old man's thoughts were. 

And the maiden's of the future. 

He was thinking, as he sat there, 
Of the days when with such arrows 

He had struck the deer and bison, 95 

On the Muskoday, the meadow ; 
Shot the wild goose, flying southward, 
On the wing, the clamorous Wawa ; 
Thinking of the great war-parties. 

How they came to buy his arrows, 100 

Could not fight without his arrows. 
Ah, no more such noble warriors 
Could be found on earth as they were ! 
Now the men were all like women, 
Only used their to'ngues for weapons ! 105 

She was thinking of a hunter, 
From another tribe and country. 
Young and tall and very handsome, 
Who one morning, in the Spring-time, 

Came to buy her father's arrows, 110 

Sat and rested in the wigwam, 
Lingered long about the doorway. 
Looking back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise him, 

Praise his courage and his wisdom; 115 

Would he come again for arrows 
To the Falls of Minnehaha? 
On the mat her hands lay idle, 
And her eyes were very dreamy. 

Through their thoughts they heard a footstep, 120 

Heard a rustling in the branches. 



220 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

And with glowing cheek and forehead, 
With the deer upon his shoulders, 
Suddenly from out the woodlands 

125 Hiawatha stood before them. 

Straight the ancient Arrow-maker 
Looked up gravely from his labor. 
Laid aside the unfinished arrow, 
Bade him enter at the doorway, 

130 Saying, as he rose to meet him, 

' Hiawatha, you are welcome ! ' 

At the feet of Laughing Water 
Hiawatha laid his burden. 
Threw the red deer from his shoulders ; 

135 And the maiden looked up at him, 

Looked up from her mat of rushes. 
Said with gentle look and accent, 
' You are welcome, Hiawatha ! ' 
Very spacious was the wigwam, 

140 Made of deer-skins dressed and whitened, 

With the Gods of the Dacotahs 
Drawn and painted on its curtains, 
And so tall the doorway, hardly 
Hiawatha stooped to enter, 

145 Hardly touched his eagle-feathers 

As he entered at the doorway. 

Then up rose the Laughing Water, 
From the ground fair Minnehaha, 
Laid aside her mat unfinished, 

150 Brought forth food and set before them. 

Water brought them from the brooklet. 
Gave them food in earthen vessels, 
Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, 
Listened while the guest was speaking, 

155 Listened while her father answered. 

But not once her lips she opened. 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 221 

As he talked of old Nokomis, 160 

Who had nursed him m his childhood, 

As he told of his companions, 

Chibiabos, the musician, 

And the very strong man, Kwasind, 

And of happiness and plenty 165 

In the land of the O jib ways, 

In the pleasant land and peaceful. 

' After many years of warfare. 
Many years of strife and bloodshed, 

There is peace between the Ojibways 170 

And the tribe of the Dacotahs.' 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slowly, 
* That this peace may last forever, 

And our hands be clasped more closely, 175 

And our hearts be more united. 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah Women ! ' 

And the ancient Arrow-maker, 180 

Paused a moment ere he answered, 
Smoked a little while in silence. 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly. 
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 

And made answer very gravely : 185 

' Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! ' 

And the lovely Laughing Water 
Seemed more lovely as she stood there, 

Neither willing nor reluctant, 190 

As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him. 
While she said, and blushed to say it, 
' I will follow you, my husband ! ' 

This was Hiawatha's wooing ! I95 

Thus it was he won the daughter 



222 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs! 
From the wigwam he departed, 

200 Leading with him Laughing Water; 

Hand in hand they went together, 
Through the woodland and the meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 

205 Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 

Calling to them from the distance, 
Crying to them from afar off, 
' Fare thee well, O Minnehaha ! ' 
And the ancient Arrow-maker 

210 Turned again unto his labor. 

Sat down by his sunny doorway. 
Murmuring to himself, and saying : 
' Thus it is our daughters leave us, 
Those we love, and those who love us ! 

215 Just when they have learned to help us. 

When we are old and lean upon them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers. 
With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village, 

220 Beckons to the fairest maiden. 

And she follows where he leads her. 
Leaving all things for the stranger ! ' 

Pleasant was the journey homeward. 
Through interminable forests, 

225 Over meadow, over mountain. 

Over river, hill, and hollow. 
Short it seemed to Hiawatha, 
Though they journeyed very slowly. 
Though his pace he checked and slackened 

230 To the steps of Laughing Water. 

Over wide and rushing rivers 

In his arms he bore the maiden; 

Light he thought her as a feather, 

As the plume upon his head-gear ; 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 223 

Cleared the tangled pathway for her, 235 

Bent aside the swaying branches, 

Made at night a lodge of branches, 

And a bed with boughs of hemlock. 

And a fire before the doorway 

With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 240 

All the travelling winds went with them, 
O'er the meadows, through the forest ; 
All the stars of night looked at them, 
Watciied with sleepless eyes their slumber ; 
From his ambush in the oak-tree 245 

Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Scampered from the path before them. 

Peering, peeping from his burrow, 250 

Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 

Pleasant was the journey homeward ! 
All the birds sang loud and sweetly 

Songs of happiness and heart's-ease ; 255 

Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
' Happy are you, Hiawatha, 
Having such a wife to love you ! ' 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 

' Happy are you, Laughing Water, 260 

Having such a noble husband ! ' 

From the sky the sun benignant 
Looked upon them through the branches. 
Saying to them, ' O my children. 

Love is sunshine, hate is shadow, 265 

Life is checkered shade and sunshine. 
Rule by love, O Hiawatha ! ' 

From the sky the moon looked at them, 
Filled the lodge with mystic splendors. 

Whispered to them, 'O my children, 270 

Day is restless, night is quiet, 
Man imperious, woman feeble ; 



224 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Half is mine, although I follow ; 
Rule by patience, Laughing Water ! ' 

275 Thus it was they journeyed homeward; 

Thus it was that Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokomis 
Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight, 
Brought the sunshine of his people, 

280 Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 

Handsomest of all the women 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
In the land of handsome women. 



The Birds of Killingworth 

It was the season, when through all the land 
The merle and mavis build, and building sing 

Those lovely lyrics, written by his hand. 

Whom Saxon Ca^dmon calls the Blithe heart King ; 
5 When on the boughs the purple buds expand. 

The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, 

And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, 

And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. 

The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, 
10 Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee ; 

The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud 
Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; 
And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd, 
Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, 
15 Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said : 
' Give us, O Lord, this day, our daily bread ! " 

Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, 

Speaking some unknown language strange and sweet 
Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed 
20 The village with the cheers of all their fleet; 

Or quarrelling together, laughed and railed 
Like foreign sailors, landed in the street 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 225 

Of seaport town, and with outlandish noise 

Of oaths and gibberish fi-ightening girls and boys. 

Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, 25 

In fabulous days, some hundred years ago ; 
And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, 

Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, 
That mingled with the universal mirth, 

Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ; 30 

They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words 
To swift destruction the whole race of birds. 

And a town -meeting was convened straightway 

To set a price upon the guilty heads 
Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, 35 

Levied black-mail upon the garden beds 
And cornfields, and beheld without dismay 

The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds; 
The skeleton that waited at their feast. 
Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. 40 

Then from his house, a temple painted white, 

With fluted columns, and a roof of red. 
The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight ! 

Slowly descending, with majestic tread, 
Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right, 45 

Down the long street he walked, as one who said, 
' A town that boasts inhabitants like me 
Can have no lack of good society ! ' 

The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere. 

The instinct of whose nature was to kill ; 50 

The wrath of God he preached from year to year, 

And read, with fervor, Edwards on the Will ; 
His favorite pastime was to slay the deer 

In summer on some Adirondac hill; 
E'en now, while walking down the rural lane, 55 

He lopped the wayside lilies with his cane. 



226 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

From the Academy, whose belfry crowned 
The hill of Science with its vane of brass, 

Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, 
60 Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, 

And all absorbed in reveries profound 
Of fair Almira in the upper class. 

Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, 

As pure as water, and as good as bread. 



65 And next the Deacon issued from his door, 

In his voluminous neck-cloth, white as snow ; 
A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; 

His form was ponderous, and his step was slow; 
There never was so wise a man before ; 
70 He seemed the incarnate ' Well, I told you so ! ' 

And to perpetuate his great renown 
There was a street named after him in town. 



These came together in the new town-hall. 
With sundry farmers from the region round. 
75 The Squire presided, dignified and tall, 

His air impressive and his reasoning sound ; 
111 fared it with the birds, both great and small ; 
Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found. 
But enemies enough, who every one 
80 Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. 



When they had ended, from his place apart 
Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong. 

And, trembling like a steed before the start, 

Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng ; 
85 Then thought of fair Almira, and took heart 

To speak out what was in him, clear and strong. 

Alike regardless of their smile or frown, 

And quite determined not to be laughed down. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 227 

' Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, 

From his Republic banished without pity 90 

The Poets ; in this little town of yours, 

You put to death, by means of a Committee, 
The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, 

The street-musicians of the heavenly city, 
The birds, who make sweet music for us all 95 

In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. 



' The thrush that carols at the dawn of day 

From the green steeples of the piny wood ; 
The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, 

Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ; 100 

The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, 

Flooding with melody the neighborhood ; 
Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng 
That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. 



' You slay them all ! and wherefore? for the gain 105 

Of a scant handful more or less of wheat. 
Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, 

Scratched up at random by industrious feet, 
Searching for worm or weevil after rain ! 

Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet 110 

As are the songs these uninvited guests 
Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. 



' Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? 

Do you ne'er think who ma'de them, and who taught 
The dialect they speak, where melodies 115 

Alone are the interpreters of thought ? 
AVhose household words are songs in many keys. 

Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught ! 
Whose habitations in the tree-tops even 
Are half-way houses on the road to heaven ! 120 



228 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

' Think, every morning when the sun peeps through 
The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove. 

How jubilant the happy birds renew 
Their oldj melodious madrigals of love ! 
125 And when you think of this, remember too 

'Tis always morning somewhere, and above 

The awakening continents, from shore to shore. 

Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. 



'■ Think of your woods and orchards without birds ! 
130 Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams 

As in an idiot's brain remembered words 

Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams! 
Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds 

Make up for the lost music, when your teams 
135 Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more 
The feathered gleaners follow to your door? 



'■ What ! would you rather see the incessant stir 
Of insects in the windrows of the hay, 

And hear the locust and the grasshopper 
140 Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play? 

Is this more pleasant to you than the whir 
Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay, 

Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take 

Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake ? 



145 < You call them thieves and pillagers ; but know. 
They are the winged wardens of your farms. 
Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, 

And from your harvests keep a hundred harms; 
Even the blackest of them all, the crow, 
150 Renders good service as your man-at-arms, 

Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, 
And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 229 

* How can I teach your children gentleness, 

And mercy to the weak, and reverence 
For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, 155 

Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence. 
Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less 

The selfsame light, although averted hence, 
When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, 
You contradict the very things I teach ? ' 160 



With this he closed ; and through the audience went 

A murmur, like the rustle of dead leaves ; 
The farmers laughed and nodded, and some bent 

Their yellow heads together like their sheaves ; 
Men have no faith in fine-spun sentiment 165 

Who put their trust in bullocks and in beeves. 
The birds were doomed ; and, as the record shows, 
A bounty offered for the heads of crows. 



There was another audience out of reach, 

Who had no voice nor vote in making laws, 170 

But in the papers read his little speech. 

And crowned his modest temples with applause ; 
They made him conscious, each one more than each. 

He still was victor, vanquished in their cause. 
Sweetest of all the applause he won from thee, 175 

O fair Almira at the Academy ! 



And so the dreadful massacre began ; 

O'er fields and orchards, and o'er woodland crests. 
The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran. 

Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains on their breasts, 180 

Or wounded crept away from sight of man. 

While the young died of famine in their nests ; 
A slaughter to be told in groans, not words. 
The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 



230 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

185 The summer came, and all the birds were dead ; 
The days were like hot coals; the very ground 
Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards fed 

Myriads of caterpillars, and around 
The cultivated fields and garden beds 
190 Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found 

No foe to check their march, till they had made 
The land a desert without leaf or shade. 



Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, 
Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly 
195 Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down 

The canker-worms upon the passers-by. 
Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, 

Who shook them off with just a little cry ; 
They were the terror of each favorite walk, 
200 The endless theme of all the village talk. 



The farmers grew impatient, but a few 

Confessed their error, and would not complain, 

For after all, the best thing one can do 
When it is raining, is to let it rain. 
205 Then they repealed the law, although they knew 

It would not call the dead to life again ; 

As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, 

Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. 



That year in Killingworth the Autumn came 
210 Without the light of his majestic look. 

The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, 

The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. 
A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, 
And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, 
215 While the wild wind went moaning everywhere. 
Lamenting the dead children of the air ! 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 231 

But the next spring a stranger sight was seen, 

A sight that never yet by bard was sung, 
As great a wonder as it would have been 

If some dumb animal had found a tongue ! 220 

A wagon, overarched with evergreen, 

Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung. 
All full of singing birds, came down the street, 
Filling the air with music wild and sweet, 

From all the county round these birds were brought, 225 

By order of the town, with anxious quest, 
And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought 

In woods and fields the places they loved best, 
Singing loud canticles, which many thought 

Were satires to the authorities addressed, 230 

While others, listening in green lanes, averred 
Such lovely music never had been heard ! 

But blither still and louder carolled they 
Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know 

It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, 235 

And everywhere, around, above, below, 

When the Preceptor bore his bride away. 
Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow. 

And a new heaven bent over a new earth 

Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. 240 



The Hanging of the Crane 



The lights are out, and gone are all the guests 
That thronging came with merriment and jests 

To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane 
In the new house, — into the night are gone; 
But still the fire upon the hearth burns on, 
And I alone remain. 



232 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

O fortunate, O happy day, 
When a new household finds its place 
Among the myriad homes of earth, 
10 Like a new star just sprung to birth, 

And rolled on its harmonious way 
Into the boundless realms of space ! 

So said the guests in speech and song, 
As in the chimney, burning bright, 
15 We hung the iron crane to-night, 

And merry was the feast and long. 

II 

And now I sit and muse on what may be, 
And in ray vision see, or seem to see. 

Through floating vapors interfused with light, 
20 Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade, 

As shadows passing into deeper shade 
Sink and elude the sight. 

For two alone, there in the hall. 
Is spread the table round and small ; 
25 Upon the polished silver shine 

The evening lamps, but, more divine, 
The light of love shines over all ; 
Of love, that says not mine and thine, 
But ours, for ours is thine and mine. 

30 They want no guests, to come between 

Their tender glances like a screen. 
And tell them tales of land and sea. 
And whatsoever may betide 
The great, forgotten world outside ; 

35 They want no guests ; they needs must be 

Each other's own best company. 



The picture fades ; as at a village fair 
A showman's views, dissolving into air, 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 233 

Again appear transfigured on the screen, 
So in my fancy this ; and now once more, 40 

In part transfigured, through the open door 
Appears the selfsame scene. 



Seated, I see the two again, 

But not alone ; they entertain 

A little angel unaware, 45 

With face as round as is the moon, 

A royal guest with flaxen hair, 

Who, throned upon his lofty chair, 

Drums on the table with his spoon. 

Then drops it careless on the floor, 60 

To grasp at things unseen before. 



Are these celestial manners ? these 

The ways that win, the arts that please? 

Ah yes ; consider well the guest, 

And whatsoe'er he does seems best; 55 

He ruleth by the right divine 

Of helplessness, so lately born 

In purple chambers of the morn. 

As sovereign over thee and thine. 

He speaketh not ; and yet there lies 60 

A conversation in his eyes ; 

The golden silence of the Greek, 

The gravest wisdom of the wise. 

Not spoken in language, but in looks 

More legible than printed books, 65 

As if he could but would not speak. 

And now, O monarch absolute. 

Thy power is put to proof ; for, lo ! 

Resistless, fathomless, and slow, 

The nurse comes rustling like the sea, 70 

And pushes back thy chair and thee. 

And so good night to King Canute. 



234 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

IV 

As one who walking in a forest sees 
A lovely landscape through the parted trees, 
75 Then sees it not, for boughs that intervene ; 

Or as we see the moon sometimes revealed 
Through drifting clouds, and then again concealed, 
So I behold the scene. 

There are two guests at table now; 
80 The king, deposed and older grown, 

No longer occupies the throne, — 

The crown is on his sister's brow ; 

A Princess from the Fairy Isles, 

The very pattern girl of girls, 
85 All covered and embowered in curls. 

Rose-tinted from the Isle of Flowers, 

And sailing with soft, silken sails 

From far-off Dreamland into ours. 

Above their bowls with rims of blue 
90 Four azure eyes of deeper hue 

Are looking, dreamy with delight ; 

Limpid as planets that emerge 

Above the ocean's rounded verge, 

Soft-shining through the summer night. 
95 Steadfast they gaze, yet nothing see 

Beyond the horizon of their bowls ; 

Nor care they for the world that rolls 

With all its freight of troubled souls 

Into the days that are to be. 



100 Again the tossing boughs shut out the scene, 

Again the drifting vapors intervene. 

And the moon's pallid disk is hidden quite : 
And now I see the table wider grown. 
As round a pebble into water thrown 

105 Dilates a ring of light. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 235 

I see the table wider grown, 

I see it garlanded with guests, 

As if fair Ariadne's Crown 

Out of the sky had fallen down ; 

Maidens within whose tender breasts 110 

A thousand restless hopes and fears, 

Forth reaching to the coming years, 

Flutter awhile, then quiet lie. 

Like timid birds that fain would fly, 

But do not dare to leave their nests ; — 115 

And youths, who in their strength elate 

Challenge the van and front of fate. 

Eager as champions to be 

In the divine knight-errantry 

Of youth, that travels sea and land 120 

Seeking adventures, or pursues, 

Through cities, and through solitudes 

Frequented by the lyric Muse, 

The phantom with the beckoning hand, 

That still allures and still eludes. 125 

O sw^eet illusions of the brain ! 

O sudden thrills of fire and frost ! 

The world is bright while ye remain, 

And dark and dead when ye are lost ! 



The meadow-brook, that seemeth to stand still, 130 

Quickens its current as it nears the mill ; 

And so the stream of Time that lingereth 
In level places, and so dull appears. 
Runs with a swifter current as it nears 

The gloomy mills of Death. 135 



And now, like the magician's scroll, 
That in the owner's keeping shrinks 
With every wish he speaks or thinks, 
Till the last wish consumes the whole. 



236 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

140 The table dwindles, and again 

I see the two alone remain. 
The crown of stars is broken in parts ; 
Its jewels, brighter than the day, 
Have one by one been stolen away 

145 To shine in other homes and hearts. 

One is a wanderer now afar 
In Ceylon or in Zanzibar, 
Or sunny regions of Cathay; 
And one is in the boisterous camp 

150 'Mid clink of arms and horses' tramp, 

And battle's terrible array. 
I see the patient mother read. 
With aching heart, of wrecks that float 
Disabled on those seas remote, 

155 Or of some great heroic deed 

On battle-fields, where thousands bleed 
To lift one hero into fame. 
Anxious she bends her graceful head 
Above these chronicles of pain, 

160 And trembles with a secret dread 

Lest there among the drowned or slain 
She find the one beloved name. 



After a day of cloud and wind and rain 
Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, 
165 And, touching all the darksome woods with light. 

Smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing, 
Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring 
Drops down into the night. 

What see I now ? The night is fair, 
170 The storm of grief, the clouds of care. 

The wind, the rain, have passed away; 
The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright, 
The house is full of life and light ; 
It is the Golden Wedding day. 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 237 

The guests come thronging in once more, 175 

Quick footsteps sound along the floor, 

The trooping children crowd the stair. 

And in and out and everywhere 

Flashes along the corridor 

The sunshine of their golden hair. 180 

On the round table in the hall 

Another Ariadne's Crown 

Out of the sky hath fallen down ; 

More than one Monarch of the Moon 

Is drumming with his silver spoon ; lg5 

The light of love shines over all. 

O fortunate, O happy day ! 

The people sing, the people say. 

The ancient bridegroom and the bride, 

Smiling contented and serene 190 

Upon the blithe, bewildering scene. 

Behold, well pleased, on every side 

Their forms and features multiplied. 

As the reflection of a light 

Between two burnished mirrors gleams, 195 

Or lamps upon a bridge at night 

Stretch on and on before the sight. 

Till the long vista endless seems. 



The Cross of Snow- 
In the long, sleepless watches of the night, 
A gentle face — the face of one long dead — 
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head 
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. 
Here in this room she died ; and soul more white 
Never through martyrdom of fire was led 
To its repose ; nor can in books be read 
The legend of a life more benedight. 
There is a mountain in the distant West, 



238 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

10 That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines 

Displays a cross of snow upon its side. 
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast 
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes 
And seasons, changeless since the day she died. 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 

My Love 

Not as all other women are 
Is she that to my soul is dear ; 
Her glorious fancies come from far, 
Beneath the silver evening-star, 
5 And yet her heart is ever near. 

Great feelings hath she of her own. 
Which lesser souls may never know ; 
God giveth them to her alone. 
And sweet they are as any tone 
10 Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 

Yet in herself she dwelleth not, 
Although no home were half so fair ; 
No simplest duty is forgot. 
Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
15 That doth not in her sunshine share. 

She doeth little kindnesses. 
Which most leave undone, or despise : 
For naught that sets one heart at ease, 
And giveth happiness or peace, 
20 Is low-esteemed in her eyes. 

She hath no scorn of common things, 
And, though she seem of other birth, 
Round us her heart intwines and clings. 
And patiently she folds her wings 
25 To tread the humble paths of earth. 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 239 

Blessing she is : God made her so, 

And deeds of M'eek-day holiness 

Fall from her noiseless as the snow, 

Nor hath she ever chanced to know 

That aught were easier than to bless. ^0 

She is most fair, and thereunto 

Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 

Feeling or thought that was not true 

Ne'er made less beautiful the blue 

Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 35 

She is a woman : one in whom 

The spring-time of her childish years 

Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 

Though knowing well that life hath room 

For many blights and many tears. 40 

I love her with a love as still 

As a broad river's peaceful might, 

Which, by high tower and lowly mill. 

Seems following its own wayward will, 

And yet doth ever flow aright. 45 

And, on its full, deep breast serene, 

Like quiet isles my duties lie ; 

It flows around them and between. 

And makes them fresh and fair and green. 

Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 50 

Stanzas on Freedom 

Men ! whose boast it is that ye 

Come of fathers brave and free, 

If there breathe on earth a slave. 

Are ye truly free and brave ? 

If ye do not feel the chain, 5 

When it works a brother's pain, 

Are ye not base slaves indeed. 

Slaves unworthy to be freed? 



240 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Women ! who shall one day bear 
10 Sons to breathe New England air, 

If ye hear, without a blush, 
Deeds to make the roused blood rush 
Like red lava through your veins, 
For your sisters now in chains, — 
15 Answer ! are ye fit to be 

Mothers of the brave and free ? 



Is true Freedom but to break 
Fetters for our own dear sake. 
And, with leathern hearts, forget 
20 That we owe mankind a debt? 

No ! true freedom is to share 
All the chains our brothers wear, 
And, with heart and hand, to be 
Earnest to make others free ! 



25 They are slaves who fear to speak 

For the fallen and the weak ; 
They are slaves who will not choose 
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse. 
Rather than in silence shrink 

30 From the truth they needs must think ; 

They are slaves who dare not be 
In the right with two or three. 



{From Ode Recited at the Harvard Commemoration, July 21, 1865) 

II 

To-day our Reverend Mother welcomes back 
Her wisest Scholars, those who understood 

The deeper teaching of her mystic tome, 

And offered their fresh lives to make it good : 
No lore of Greece or Rome, 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 241 

No science peddling with the names of things, 
Or reading stars to find inglorious fates, 

Can lift our life with wings 
Far from Death's idle gulf that for the many waits. 

And lengthen out our dates 10 

With that clear fame whose memory sings 
In manly hearts to come, and nerves them and dilates : 
Nor such thy teaching, Mother of us all ! 
Not such the trumpet-call 

Of thy diviner mood, 15 

That could thy sons entice 
From happy homes and toils, the fruitful nest 
Of those half-virtues which the world calls best, 
Into War's tumult rude ; 

But rather far that stern device 20 

The sponsors chose that round thy cradle stood 
In the dim, unventured wood, 
The Veritas that lurks beneath 
The letter's unprolific sheath. 
Life of whate'er makes life worth living, 25 

Seed-grain of high emprise, immortal food. 

One heavenly thing whereof earth hath the giving. 

Ill 

Many loved Truth, and lavished life's best oil 

Amid the dust of books to find her, 
Content at last, for guerdon of their toil, 30 

With the cast mantle she hath left behind her. 

Many in sad faith sought for her. 

Many with crossed hands sighed for her; 

But these, our brothers, fought for her. 

At life's dear peril wrought for her, 35 

So loved her that they died for her, 

Tasting the raptured fleetness 

Of her divine completeness: 

Their higher instinct knew 
Those love her best who to themselves are true, 40 

And what they dare to dream of, dare to do ; 



242 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

They followed her and found her 

Where all may hope to find, 
Not in the ashes of the burnt-out mind, 
45 But beautiful, with danger's sweetness round her. 

Where faith made whole with deed 

Breathes its awakening breath 

Into the lifeless creed, 

They saw her plumed and mailed, 
50 With sweet, stern face unveiled, 

And all-repaying eyes, look proud on them in death. 



Whither leads the path 
To ampler fates that leads ? 
Not down through flowery meads, 
55 To reap an aftermath 

Of youth's vainglorious weeds. 
But up the steep, amid the wrath 
And shock of deadly-hostile creeds, 
W^herethe world's best hope and stay 
60 By battle's flashes gropes a desperate way, 

And every turf the fierce foot clings to bleeds. 
Peace hath her not ignoble wreath, 
Ere yet the sharp, decisive word 
Light the black lips of cannon, and the sword 
65 Dreams in its easeful sheath ; 

But some day the live coal behind the thought, 
Whether from Baal's stone obscene. 
Or from the shrine serene 
Of God's pure altar brought, 
70 Bursts up in flame; the war of tongue and pen 

Learns with what deadly purpose it was fraught, 
And, helpless in the fiery passion caught, 
Shakes all the pillared state with shock of men : 
Some day the Soft Ideal that we wooed 
75 Confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 243 

And cries reproachful : ' Was it, then, my praise. 
And not myself was loved ? Prove now thy truth ; 
I claim of thee the promise of thy youth ; 
Give rae thy life, or cower in empty phrase, 

The victim of thy genius, not its mate ! ' 80 

Life may be given in many ways. 
And loyalty to Truth be sealed 
As bravely in the closet as the field. 

So bountiful is Fate ; 

But then to stand beside her, 85 

When craven churls deride her. 
To front a lie in arms and not to yield. 

This shows, methinks, God's plan 

And measure of a stalwart man, 

Limbed like the old heroic breeds, 90 

Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth. 

Not forced to frame excuses for his birth. 
Fed from within with all the strength he needs. 



vr 

Such was he, our Martyr-Chief, 

Whom late the Nation he had led, 95 

With ashes on her head. 
Wept with the passion of an angry grief : 
Forgive me, if from present things I turn 
To speak what in my heart will beat and burn. 
And hang my wreath on his world-honored urn. lOO 

Nature, they say, doth dote. 

And cannot make a man 

Save on some worn-out plan. 

Repeating us by rote : 
For him her Old- World moulds aside she threw, 105 

And choosing sweet clay from the breast 

Of the unexhausted West, 
With stuff untainted shaped a hero new. 
Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. 



244 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

110 How beautiful to see 

Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, 
Who loved his charge, but never loved to lead ; 
One whose meek flock the people joyed to be, 
Not lured by any cheat of birth, 
115 * But by his clear-grained human worth, 

And brave old wisdom of sincerity ! 

They knew that outward grace is dust ; 
They could not choose but trust 
In that sure-footed mind's unfaltering skill, 
120 And supple-tempered will 

That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. 
His was no lonely mountain-peak of mind. 
Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, 
A sea-mark now, now lost in vapors blind ; 
125 Broad prairie rather, genial, level-lined, 

Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, 
Yet also nigh to heaven and loved of loftiest stars. 

Nothing of Europe here, 
Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward still, 
130 Ere any names of Serf and Peer 

Could Nature's equal scheme deface 
And thwart her genial will; 
Here was a type of the true elder race, 
And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face. 
135 I praise him not ; it were too late ; 

And some innative weakness there must be 
In him who condescends to victory 
Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, 
Safe in himself as in a fate. 
140 So always firmly he : 

He knew to bide his time. 
And can his fame abide. 
Still patient in his simple faith sublime. 
Till the wise years decide. 
145 Great captains, with their guns and drums. 

Disturb our judgment for the hour. 
But at last silence comes ; 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 245 

These are all gone, and, standing like a tower, 
Our children shall behold his fame. 

The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, 150 

Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, 
New birth of our new soil, the first American. 



We sit here in the Promised Land 
That flows with Freedom's honey and milk ; 
But 'twas they won it, sword in hand, 155 

Making the nettle danger soft for us as silk. 
We welcome back our bravest and our best ; — 
Ah me ! not all ! some come not with the rest. 
Who went forth brave and bright as any here ! 
I strive to mix some gladness with my strain, 160 

But the sad strings complain, 
And will not please the ear: 
I sweep them for a paean, but they wane 

Again and yet again 
Lito a dirge, and die away, in pain. 165 

In these brave ranks I only see the gaps. 
Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb turf wraps. 
Dark to the triumph which they died to gain : 
Fitlier may others greet the living, 

For me the past is unforgiving ; 170 

I with uncovered head 
Salute the sacred dead. 
Who went, and who return not. — Say not so ! 
'Tis not the grapes of Canaan that repay. 

But the high faith that failed not by the way ; 175 

Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave ; 
No ban of endless night exiles the brave ; 

And to the saner mind 
We rather seem the dead that stayed behind. 



246 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

180 Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow ! 

For never shall their aureoled presence lack : 
I see them muster in a gleaming row. 
With ever-youthful brows that nobler show ; 
We find in our dull road their shining track ; 

185 In every nobler mood 

We feel the orient of their spirit glow, 
Part of our life's unalterable good, 
Of all our saintlier aspiration ; 

They come transfigured back, 

190 Secure from change in their high-hearted ways, 

Beautiful evermore, and with the rays 
Of morn on their white Shields of Expectation ! 



Not in anger, not in pride, 

Pure from passion's mixture rude 
195 Ever to base earth allied, 

But with far-heard gratitude, 

Still with heart and voice renewed, 
To heroes living and dear martyrs dead. 
The strain should close that consecrates our brave. 
200 Lift the heart and lift the head ! 

Lofty be its mood and grave, 

Not without a martial ring. 

Not without a prouder tread 

And a peal of exultation : 
205 Little right has he to sing 

Through whose heart in such an hour 

Beats no march of conscious power. 

Sweeps no tumult of elation ! 

'Tis no Man we celebrate, 
210 By his country's victories great, 

A hero half, and half the whim of Fate, 

But the pith and marrow of a Nation 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 247 

Drawing force from all her men, 

Highest, humblest, weakest, all. 

For her time of need, and then 215 

Pulsing it again through them. 
Till the basest can no longer cower, 
Feeling his soul spring up divinely tall. 
Touched but in passing by her mantle-hem. 
Come back, then, noble pride, for 'tis her dower ! 220 

How could poet ever tower. 

If his passions, hopes, and fears, 

If his triumphs and his tears. 

Kept not measure with his people? 
Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves ! 225 

Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple ! 
Banners, adance with triumph, bend your staves ! 

And from every mountain-peak 

Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak, 

Katahdin tell Monad nock, Whiteface he, 230 

And so leap on in light from sea to sea, 
Till the glad news be sent 
Across a kindling continent, 
Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver : 
' Be proud ! for she is saved, and all have helped to save her ! 235 

She that lifts up the manhood of the poor, 

She of the open soul and open door. 

With room about her hearth for all mankind ! 

The fire is dreadful in her eyes no more; 

From her bold front the helm she doth unbind, 240 

Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin, 

And bids her navies, that so lately hurled 

Their crashing battle, hold their thunders in, 

Swimming like birds of calm along the unharmful shore. 

No challenge sends she to the elder world, . 245 

Tl>at looked askance and hated ; a light scorn 

Plays o'er her mouth, as round her mighty knees 

She calls her children back, and waits the morn 
Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas.' 



248 AMERICAN LITERATURE 



250 Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release ! 

Thy God, in these distempered days, 
Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways. 
And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace ! 
Bow down in prayer and praise ! 
255 No poorest in thy borders but may now 

Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow. 
O Beautiful ! my country ! ours once more ! 
Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair 
O'er such sweet brows as never other wore, 
260 And letting thy set lips. 

Freed from wrath's pale eclipse, 
The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, 
What words divine of lover or of poet 
Could tell our love and make thee know it, 
265 Among the Nations bright beyond compare? 

What were our lives without thee? 
W^hat all our lives to save thee? 
We reck not what we gave thee ; 
We will not dare to doubt thee, 
270 But ask whatever else, and we will dare ! 



(From Under the Old Elm) 

(Poem read at Cambridge on the Hundredth Anniversary of Wash- 
ington's taking Command of the American Army, 3d July, 1775.) 

Ill 
1 

Beneath our consecrated elm 

A century ago he stood. 

Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood 

Whose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm 

The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn helm : — 

From colleges, where now the gown 

To arms had yielded, from the town, 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 249 

Our rude self-summoned levies flocked to see 

The new-come chiefs and wonder which was he. 

No need to question long ; close-lipped and tall, lo 

Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone 

To bridle others' clamors and his own, 

Firmly erect, he towered above them all. 

The incarnate discipline that was to free 

With iron curb that armed democracy. 15 



A motley rout was that which came to stare, 

In raiment tanned by years of sun and storm, 

Of every shape that was not uniform. 

Dotted with regimentals here and there ; 

An army all of captains, used to pray 20 

And stiff in fight, but serious drill's despair, 

Skilled to debate their orders, not obey ; 

Deacons were there, selectmen, men of note 

In half-tamed hamlets ambushed round with woods, 

Ready to settle Freewill by a vote, 25 

But largely liberal to its private moods ; 

Prompt to assert by manners, voice, or pen, 

Or ruder arms, their rights as Englishmen, 

Nor much fastidious as to how and when : 

Yet seasoned stuff and fittest to create 30 

A thought-staid army or a lasting state : 

Haughty they said he was, at first ; severe ; 

But owned, as all men own, the steady hand 

Upon the bridle, patient to command. 

Prized, as all prize, the justice pure from fear, 35 

And learned to honor first, then love him, then revere. 

Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint 

And purpose clean as light from every selfish taint. 



Musing beneath the legendary tree. 

The years between furl off : I seem to see 40 



250 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

The sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through, 

Dapple with gold his sober buff and blue 

And weave prophetic aureoles round the head 

That shines our beacon now nor darkens with the dead. 

45 O man of silent mood, 

A stranger among strangers then, 
How art thou since renowned the Great, the Good, 
Familiar as the day in all the homes of men ! 
The winged years, that winnow praise to blame, 

50 Blow many names out : they but fan and flame 

The self-renewing splendors of thy fame. 



Soldier and statesman, rarest unison ; 

High-poised example of great duties done 

Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn 
55 As life's indifferent gifts to all men born ; 

Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, 

But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, 

Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, 

Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content ; 
60 Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed 

Save by the men his nobler temper shamed ; 

Never seduced^through show of present good 

By other than unsetting lights to steer 

New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast mood 
65 More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear ; 

Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still 

In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will ; 

Not honored then or now because he wooed 

The popular voice, but that he still withstood ; 
70 Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one. 

Who was all this and ours, and all men's, — Washington. 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 251 



Virginia gave us this imperial man 

Cast in the massive mould 

Of those high-statured ages old 

Which into grander forms our mortal metal ran ; 75 

She gave us this unblemished gentleman : 

What shall we give her back but love and praise 

As in the dear old unestranged days 

Before the inevitable wrong began ? 

Mother of States and undiminished men, 80 

Thou gavest us a country, giving him, 

And we owe always wliat we owed thee then : 

The boon thou w^ouldst have snatched from us agen 

Shines as before with no abatement dim. 

A great man's memory is the only thing 85 

With influence to outlast the present whim 

And bind us as when here he knit our golden ring; 

All of him that was subject to the hours 

Lies in thy soil and makes it part of ours : 

Across more recent graves, 90 

Where unresentf ul Nature weaves 

Her pennons o'er the shot-ploughed sod, 

Proclaiming the sweet Truce of God, 

We from this consecrated plain stretch out 

Our hands as free from afterthought or doubt 95 

As here the united North 

Poured her embrowned manhood forth 

In welcome of our savior and thy son. 

Through battle we have better learned thy worth, 

The long-breathed valor and undaunted will, 100 

AVhich, like his own, the day's disaster done, 

Could, safe in manhood, suffer and be still. 

Both thine and ours the victory hardly won ; 

If ever with distempered voice or pen 

We have misdeemed thee, here we take it back, 105 

And for the dead of both don common black. 



252 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Be to us evermore as thou wast then, 
As we forget thou hast not always been, 
Mother of States and unpolluted men, 
110 Virginia, fitly named from England's manly queen ! 

Emerson and His Audience 

{From Emerson the Lecturer) 

It is a singular fact, that Mr. Emerson is the most 
steadily attractive lecturer in America. Into that some- 
what cold-waterish region adventurers of the sensational 
kind come down now and then with a splash, to become 
5 disregarded King Logs before the next season. But Mr. 
Emerson always draws. A lecturer now for something like 
a third of a century, one of the pioneers of the lecturing 
system, the charm of his voice, his manner, and his matter 
has never lost its power over his earlier hearers, and con- 
10 tinually winds new ones in its enchanting meshes. What 
they do not fully understand they take on trust and listen, 
saying to themselves, as the old poet of Sir Philip 
Sidney, — 

" A sweet, attractive kind of grace, 
15 A full assurance given by looks, 

Continual comfort in a face, 

The lineaments of gospel books." 

We call it a singular fact, because we Yankees are 
thought to be fond of the spread-eagle style, and nothing 

20 can be more remote from that than his. We are reckoned 
a practical folk, who would rather hear about a new air 
tight stove than about Plato; yet our favorite teacher's 
practicality is not in the least of the Poor Richard variety. 
If he have any Buncombe constituency, it is that unrealized 

25 commonwealth of philosophers which Plotinus proposed to 
establish ; and if he were to make an almanac, his directions 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 253 

to farmers would be something like this : "October : Lidian 
Summer; now is the time to get in your early Vedas." 
What, then, is his secret ? Is it not that he out- Yankees 
us all ? that his range includes us all ? that he is equally 30 
at home with the potato-disease and original sin, with 
pegging shoes and the Over-soul ? that, as we try all trades, 
so has he tried all cultures ? and above all, that his 
mysticism gives us a counterpoise to our super-practicality ? 

There is no man living to whom, as a writer, so many of 35 
us feel and thankfully acknowledge so great an indebtedness 
for ennobling impulses, — none whom so many cannot abide. 
What does he mean ? ask these last. Where is his system ? 
What is the use of it all ? What have we to do with 
Brahma ? I do not propose to write an essay on Emerson 40 
at this time. I will only say that one may find grandeur 
and consolation in a starlit night without caring to ask 
what it means save grandeur and consolation ; one may like 
Montaigne, as some ten generations before us have done, 
without thinking him so systematic as some more eminently 45 
tedious (or shall we say tediously eminent ?) authors ; one 
may think roses as good in their way as cabbages, though 
the latter would make a better show in the witness-box if 
cross-examined as to their usefulness ; and as for Brahma, 
why, he can take care of himself, and won't bite us at any 50 
rate. 

The bother with Mr, Emerson is, that, though he writes 
in prose, he is essentially a poet. If you undertake to para- 
phrase what he says, and to reduce it to words of one 
syllable for infant minds, you will make as sad work of it 55 
as the good monk with his analysis of Homer in the 
Epistolm Ohscurorum Virorum. We look upon him as one 
of the few men of genius whom our age has produced, and 
there needs no better proof of it than his masculine faculty 
of fecundating other minds. Search for his eloquence in 60 



254 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

his books and you will perchance miss it, but meanwhile 
you will find that it has kindled all your thoughts. Eor 
choice and pith of language he belongs to a better age than 
ours, and might rub shoulders with Fuller and Browne, — 

65 though he does use that abominable word reliable. His eye 
for a fine, telling phrase that will carry true is like that of a 
backwoodsman for a rifle; and he will dredge you up a 
choice word from the mud of Cotton Mather himself. A 
diction at once so rich and so homely as his I know not 

70 where to' match in these days of writing by the page; it is 
like homespun cloth-of-gold. The many cannot miss his 
meaning, and only the few can find it. It is the open secret 
of all true genius. It is wholesome to angle in those pro- 
found pools, though one be rewarded with nothing more 

75 than the leap of a fish that flashes his freckled side in the 
sun, and as suddenly absconds in the dark and dreamy 
waters again. There is keen excitement, though there be. 
no ponderable acquisition. If we carry nothing home in 
our baskets, there is ample gain in dilated lungs and stimu- 

80 lated blood. What does he mean, quotha ? He means 
inspiring hints, a divining-rod to your deeper nature. No 
doubt Emerson, like all original men, has his peculiar 
audience, and yet I know none that can hold a promiscuous 
crowd in pleased attention so long as he. As in all original 

85 men, there is something for every palate. "Would you 
know," says G-oethe, " the ripest cherries ? Ask the boys 
and the blackbirds." 

The announcement that such a pleasure as a new course 
of lectures by him is coming, to people as old as I am, is 

90 something like those forebodings of spring that prepare us 
every year for a familiar novelty, none the less novel, when 
it arrives, because it is familiar. We know perfectly well 
what we are to expect from Mr. Emerson, and yet what he 
says always penetrates and stirs us, as is apt to be the case 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 255 

with genius, in a very unlooked-for fashion. Perhaps 95 
genius is one of the few things which we gladly allow to 
repeat itself, — one of the few that multiply rather than 
weaken the force of their impression by iteration. Perhaps 
some of us hear more than the mere words, are moved by 
something deeper than the thoughts. If it be so, we are loo 
quite right, for it is thirty years and more of " plain living 
and high thinking" that speak to us in this altogether 
unique lay-preacher. We have shared in the beneficence of 
this varied culture, this fearless impartiality in criticism 
and speculation, this masculine sincerity, this sweetness of i05 
nature which rather stimulates than cloys, for a generation 
long. If ever there was a standing testimonial to the 
cumulative power and value of Character (and we need it 
sadly in these days), we have it in this gracious and 
dignified presence. What an antiseptic is a pure life! At no 
sixty-five (or two years beyond his grand climacteric, as he 
would prefer to call it) he has that privilege of soul which 
abolishes the calendar, and presents him to us always the 
unwasted contemporary of his own prime. I do not know 
if he seem old to his younger hearers, but we who haveii5 
known him so long wonder at the tenacity with which he 
maintains himself even in the outposts of youth. I suppose 
it is not the Emerson of 1868 to whom we listen. For us 
the whole life of the man is distilled in the clear drop of 
every sentence, and behind each word we divine the force 120 
of a noble character, the weight of a large capital of think- 
ing and being. We do not go to hear what Emerson says 
so much as to hear Emerson. Not that we perceive any 
falling off in anything that ever was essential to the charm 
of Mr. Emerson's peculiar style of thought or phrase. The 125 
first lecture, to be sure, was more disjointed even than com- 
mon. It was as if, after vainly trying to get his paragraphs 
into sequence and order, he had at last tried the desperate 



256 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

expedient of shuffling them. It was chaos come again, but 

130 it was a chaos full of shooting-stars, a jumble of creative 
forces. The second lecture, on Criticism and Poetry, was 
quite up to the level of old times, full of that power of 
strangely subtle association whose indirect approaches 
startle the mind into almost painful attention, of those 

135 flashes of mutual understanding between speaker and hearer 
that are gone ere one can say it lightens. The vice of 
Emerson's criticism seems to be, that while no man is so 
sensitive to what is poetical, few men are less sensible than 
he of what makes a poem. He values the solid meaning of 

140 thought above the subtler meaning of style. He would 
prefer Donne, I suspect, to Spenser, and sometimes mis- 
takes the queer for the original. 

To be young is surely the best, if the most precarious, 
gift of life; yet there are some of us who would hardly con- 

145 sent to be young again, if it were at the cost of our recollec- 
tion of Mr. Emerson's first lectures during the consulate of Van 
Buren. We used to walk in from the country to the Masonic 
Temple (I think it was), through the crisp winter night, 
and listen to that thrilling voice of his, so charged with 

150 subtle meaning and subtle music, as shipwrecked men on a 
raft to the hail of a ship that came with unhoped-for food 
and rescue. Cynics might say what they liked. Did our 
own imaginations transfigure dry remainder-biscuit into 
ambrosia ? At any rate, he brought us life, which, on the 

155 whole, is no bad thing. Was it all transcendentalism? 
magic-lantern pictures on mist? As you will. Those, 
then, were just what we wanted. But it was not so. The 
delight and the benefit were that he put us in communica- 
tion with a larger style of thought, sharpened our wits with 

160 a more pungent phrase, gave us ravishing glimpses of an 
ideal under the dry husk of our New England; made us 
conscious of the supreme and everlasting originality of 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 257 

whatever bit of soul might be in any of us ; freed us, in 
short, from the stocks of prose in which we had sat so long 
that we had grown wellnigh contented in our cramps. And 165 
who that saw the audience will ever forget it, where every 
one still capable of fire, or longing to renew in. them the 
half-forgotten sense of it, was gathered ? Those faces, 
young and old, agleam with pale intellectual light, eager 
with pleased attention, flash upon me once more from the 170 
deep recesses of the years with an exquisite pathos. Ah, 
beautiful young eyes, brimming with love and hope, wholly 
vanished now in that other world we call the Past, or peer- 
ing doubtfully through the pensive gloaming of memory, 
your light impoverishes these cheaper days ! I hear again 175 
that rustle of sensation, as they turned to exchange glances 
over some pithier thought, some keener flash of that humor 
which always played about the horizon of his mind like 
heat-lightning, and it seems now like the sad whisper of the 
autumn leaves that are whirling around me. But would 180 
my picture be complete if I forgot that ample and vegete 
countenance of Mr. E of W , — how, from its reg- 
ular post at the corner of the front bench, it turned in ruddy 
triumph to the profaner audience as if he were the inex- 
plicably appointed fugleman of appreciation ? I was re- 185 
minded of him by those hearty cherubs in Titian's Assump- 
tion that look at you as who should say, " Did you ever see 
a Madonna like that f Did you ever behold one hundred 
and fifty pounds of womanhood mount heavenward before 
like a rocket ? " 190 

To some of us that long past experience remains as the 
most marvellous and fruitful we have ever had. Emerson 
awakened us, saved us from the body of this death. It is 
the sound of the trumpet that the young soul longs for, 
careless what breath may fill it. Sidney heard it in the 195 
ballad of Chevy Chase, and we in Emerson. Nor did it blow 



258 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

retreat, but called to us with assurance of victory. Did 
they say he was disconnected ? So were the stars, that 
seemed larger to our eyes, still keen with that excitement, 

200 as we walked homeward with prouder stride over the creak- 
ing snow. And were they not knit together by a higher logic 
than our mere sense could master ? Were we enthusiasts ? 
I hope and believe we were, and am thankful to the man 
who made us worth something for once in our lives. If 

205 asked what was left? what we carried home? we should 
not have been careful for an answer. It would have been 
enough if we had said that something beautiful had passed 
that way. Or we might have asked in return what one 
brought away from a symphony of Beethoven ? Enough 

210 that he had set that ferment of wholesome discontent at 
work in us. There is one, at least, of those old hearers, so 
many of whom are now in the fruition of that intellectual 
beauty of which Emerson gave them both the desire and the 
foretaste, who will always love to repeat : 

216 Che in la mente m'e fitta, ed or m' accuora 

La cara e buona immagine paterna 
Di voi, quando nel mondo ad ora ad ora 
M' insegnavaste come 1' uom s' eterna." 

White's " Selborne " 

{From My Garden Acquaintance) 

One of the most delightful books in my father's library 
was White's "Natural History of Selborne." For me it 
has rather gained in charm with years. I used to read it 
without knowing the secret of the pleasure I found in it, 
5 but as I grow older I begin to detect some of the simple ex- 
pedients of this natural magic. Open the book where you 
will, it takes you out of doors. In our broiling July 
weather one can walk out with this genially garrulous Fel- 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 259 

low of Oriel and. find refreshment instead of fatigue. You 
have no trouble in keeping abreast of him as he ambles 10 
along on his hobby-horse, now pointing to a pretty view, 
now stopping to watch the motions of a bird or an insect, 
or to bag a specimen for the Honourable Daines Barrington 
or Mr. Pennant. In simplicity of taste and natural refine- 
ment he reminds one of Walton ; in tenderness toward what 15 
he would have called the brute creation, of Cowper. I do not 
know whether his descriptions of scenery are good or not, 
but they have made me familiar with his neighborhood. 
Since I first read him, I have walked over some of his 
favorite haunts, but I still see them through his eyes rather 20 
than by any recollection of actual and personal vision. The 
book has also the delightfulness of absolute leisure. Mr. 
White seems never to have had any harder work to do than 
to study the habits of his feathered fellow-townsfolk, or to 
watch the ripening of his peaches on the wall. No doubt 25 
he looked after the souls of his parishioners with ofiicial 
and even friendly interest, but, I cannot help suspecting, 
with a less personal solicitude. For he seems to have lived 
before the Fall. His volumes are the journal of Adam in 
Paradise, 30 

" Annihilating all that's made 
To a green thought in a green shade." 

It is positive rest only to look into that garden of his. It 
is vastly better than to 

'' See great Diocletian walk 35 

In the Salonian garden's noble shade," 

for thither ambassadors intrude to bring with them the 
noises of Eome, while here the world has no entrance. No 
rumor of the revolt of the American Colonies appears to 
have reached him. "The natural term of an hog's life "40 
has more interest for him than that of an empire. Bur- 



260 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

goyne may surrender and welcome ; of what consequence is 
that compared with the fact that we can explain the odd 
tumbling of rooks in the air by their turning over "to 

45 scratch themselves with one claw " ? All the couriers in 
Europe spurring rowel-deep make no stir in Mr. White's 
little Chartreuse ; but the arrival of the house-martin a day 
earlier or later than last year is a piece of news worth send- 
ing express to all his correspondents. 

50 Another secret charm of this book is its inadvertent hu- 
mor, so much the more delicious because unsuspected by the 
author. How pleasant is his innocent vanity in adding to 
the list of the British, and still more of the Selbornian, 
fauna! I believe he would gladly have consented to be 

55 eaten by a tiger or a crocodile, if by that means the oc- 
casional presence within the parish limits of either of these 
anthropophagous brutes could have been established. He 
brags of no fine society, but is plainly a^ little elated by 
"having considerable acquaintance with a tame brown owl." 

60 Most of us have known our share of owls, but few can boast* 
of intimacy with a feathered one. The great events of Mr. 
White's life, too, have that disproportionate importance 
which is always humorous. To think of his hands having 
actually been thought worthy (as neither Willoughby's nor 

65 Ray's were) to hold a stilted plover, the Charadrius Jmnan- 
topus, with no back toe, and therefore "liable, in specula- 
tion, to perpetual vacillations " ! I wonder, by the way, if 
metaphysicians have no hind toes. In 1770 he makes the 
acquaintance in Sussex of " an old family tortoise," which 

70 had then been domesticated for thirty years. It is clear 
that he fell in love with it at first sight. We have no 
means of tracing the growth of his passion ; but in 1780 we 
find him eloping with its object in a post-chaise. "The 
rattle and hurry of the journey so perfectly roused it that, 

75 when I turned it out in a border, it walked twice down to 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 261 

the bottom of my garden." It reads like a Court Journal : 
"Yesterday morning H.R.H. the Princess Alice took an 
airing of half an hour on the terrace of Windsor Castle." 
This tortoise might have been a member of the Royal So- 
ciety, if he could have condescended to so ignoble an am- 80 
bition. It had but just been discovered that a surface 
inclined at a certain angle with the plane of the horizon 
took more of the sun's rays. The tortoise had always 
known this (though he unostentatiously made no parade of 
it), and used accordingly to tilt himself up against the gar- 85 
den-wall in the autnmn. He seems to have been more of a 
philosopher than even Mr. White himself, caring for nothing 
but to get under a cabbage-leaf when it rained, or when the 
sun was too hot, and to bury himself alive before frost, — a 
four-footed Diogenes, who carried his tub on his back. 90 

There are moods in which this kind of history is infinitely 
refreshing. These creatures whom we affect to look down 
upon as the drudges of instinct are members of a common- 
wealth whose constitution rests on immovable bases. Never 
any need of reconstruction there ! They never dream of 95 
settling it by vote that eight hours are equal to ten, or that 
one creature is as clever as another and no more. They do 
not use their poor wits in regulating God's clocks, nor think 
they cannot go astray so long as they carry their guide- 
board about with them, — a delusion we often practice upon 100 
ourselves with our high and mighty reason, that admirable 
finger-post which points every way, as we choose to turn it, 
and always right. It is good for us now and then to con- 
verse with a world like Mr. White's, where Man is the least 
important of animals. But one who, like me, has always 105 
lived in the country and always on the same spot, is drawn 
to his book by other occult sympathies. Do we not share 
his indignation at that stupid Martin who had graduated his 
thermometer no lower than 4° above zero of Fahrenheit, so 



262 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

no that in the coldest weather ever known the mercury basely- 
absconded into the bulb, and left us to see the victory slip 
through our fingers just as they were closing upon it ? No 
man, I suspect, ever lived long in the country without being 
bitten by these meteorological ambitions. He likes to be 

115 hotter and colder, to have been more deeply snowed up, to 
have more trees, and larger, blown down than his neigh- 
bors. With us descendants of the Puritans especially, 
these weather-competitions supply the abnegated excite- 
ment of the race-course. Men learn to value thermometers 

120 of the true imaginative temperament, capable of prodigious 
elations and corresponding dejections. The other day 
(5th July) I marked 98° in the shade, my high- water mark, 
higher by one (legree than I had ever seen it before. I 
happened to meet a neighbor ; as we mopped our brows at 

125 each other, he told me that he had just cleared 100°, and I 
went home a beaten man. I had not felt the heat before, 
save as a beautiful exaggeration of sunshine ; but now it 
oppressed me with the prosaic vulgarity of an oven. What 
had been poetic intensity became all at once rhetorical 

130 hyperbole. I might suspect his thermometer (as indeed I 
did, for we Harvard men are apt to think ill of any gradua- 
tion save our own) ; but it was a poor consolation. The 
fact remained that his herald Mercury, standing a-tiptoe, 
could look down on mine. I seem to glimpse something of 

135 this familiar weakness in Mr. White. He, too, has shared 
in these mercurial triumphs and defeats. Nor do I doubt 
that he had a true country-gentleman's interest in the 
weathercock ; that his first question on coming down of a 
morning was, like Barabas's, 

140 " Into what quarter peers my halcyon's bill ? " 

It is an innocent and healthful employment of the mind, 
distracting one from too continual study of oneself, and 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 263 

leading one to dwell rather upon the indigestions of the 
elements than one's own. " Did the wind back round, or 
go about with the sun ? " is a rational question that bears 145 
not remotely on the making of hay and the prosperity of 
crops. I have little doubt that the regulated observation ' 
of the vane in many different places, and, the interchange 
of results by telegraph, would put the weather, as it were, 
in our power, by betraying its ambushes before it is ready to 150 
give the assault. At first sight, nothing seems more drolly 
trivial than the lives of those whose single achievement is 
to record the wind and the temperature three times a day. 
Yet such men are doubtless sent into the world for this 
special end, and perhaps there is no kind of accurate ob- 155 
servation, whatever its object, that has not its final use and 
value for some one or other. It is even to be hoped that 
the speculations of our newsj^aper editors and their myriad 
correspondents upon the signs of the political atmosphere 
may also fill their appointed place in a well-regulated 160 
universe, if it be only that of supplying so many more 
jack-o'-lanterns to the future historian. Nay, the observa- 
tions on finance of an M. C. whose sole knowledge of the 
subject has been derived from a lifelong success in getting 
a living out of the public vrithout paying any equivalent 165 
therefor, will perhaps be of interest hereafter to some ex- 
plorer of our cloaca maxima, whenever it is cleansed. 

The True Nature of Democracy 

{From Democracy) 

We are told that the inevitable result of democracy is to 
sap the foundations of personal independence, to weaken 
the principle of authorit}^, to lessen the respect due to emi- 
nence, whether in station, virtue, or genius. If these things 
were so, society could not hold together. Perhaps the best 5 



264 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

forcing-house of robust individuality would be where public 
opinion is inclined to be most overbearing, as he must be of 
heroic temper who should walk along Piccadilly at the 
height of the season in a soft hat. As for authority, it is 

10 one of the symptoms of the time that the religious reverence 
for it is declining everywhere, but this is due partly to the 
fact that state-craft is no longer looked upon as a mystery, 
but as a business, and partly to the decay of superstition, 
by which I mean the habit of respecting what we are told 

15 to respect rather than what is respectable in itself. There 
is more rough and tumble in the American democracy than 
is altogether agreeable to people of sensitive nerves and 
refined habits, and the people take their political duties 
lightly and laughingly, as is, perhaps, neither unnatural 

20 nor unbecoming in a young giant. Democracies can no 
more jump away from their own shadows than the rest of us 
can. They no doubt sometimes make mistakes and pay 
honor to men who do not deserve it. But they do this be- 
cause they believe them worthy of it, and though it be true 

25 that the idol is the measure of the worshipper, yet the 
worship has in it the germ of a nobler religion. But is it 
democracies alone that fall into these errors ? I, who have 
seen it proposed to erect a statue to Hudson, the railway 
king, and have heard Louis Napoleon hailed as the saviour 

30 of society by men who certainly had no democratic asso- 
ciations or leanings, am not ready to think so. But de- 
mocracies have likewise their finer instincts. I have also 
seen the wisest statesman and most pregnant speaker of our 
generation, a man of humble birth and ungainly manners, 

35 of little culture beyond what his own genius supplied, be- 
come more absolute in power than any monarch of modern 
times through the reverence of his countrymen for his 
honesty, his wisdom, his sincerity, his faith in God and 
man, and the nobly humane simplicity of his character. 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 265 

And I remember another whom popular respect enveloped 40 
as with a halo, the least vulgar of men, the most austerely- 
genial, and the most independent of opinion. Wherever 
he went he never met a stranger, but everywhere neighbors 
and friends proud of him as their ornament and decoration. 
Institutions which could bear and breed such men as Lincoln 45 
and Emerson had surely some energy for good. No, amid all 
the fruitless turmoil and miscarriage of the world, if there 
be one thing steadfast and of favorable omen, one thing to 
make optimism distrust its own obscure distrust, it is the 
rooted instinct in men to admire what is better and more 50 
beautiful than themselves. The touchstone of political and 
social institutions is their ability to supply them with worthy 
objects of this sentiment, which is the very tap-root of 
civilization and progress. There would seem to be no readier 
way of feeding it with the elements of growth and vigor than 55 
such an organization of society as will enable men to respect 
themselves, and so to justify them in respecting others. 

Such a result is quite possible under other conditions 
than those of an avowedly democratical Constitution. For 
I take it that the real essence of democracy was fairly enough 60 
defined by the First Napoleon when he said that the French 
Revolution meant "la carriere ouverte aux talents" — a 
clear pathway for merit of whatever kind. I should be in- 
clined to paraphrase this by calling democracy that form of 
society, no matter what its political classification, in which 65 
every man had a chance and knew that he had it. If a man 
can climb, and feels himself encouraged to climb, from a 
coalpit to the highest position for which he is fitted, he can 
well afford to be indifferent what name is given to the gov- 
ernment under which he lives. The Bailli of Mirabeau, 70 
uncle of the more famous tribune of that name, wrote in 
1771 : " The English are, in my opinion, a hundred times 
more agitated and more unfortunate than the very Algerines 



266 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

themselves, because they do not know and will not know 

75 till the destruction of their over-swollen power, which I be- 
lieve very near, whether they are monarchy, aristocracy, or 
democracy, and wish to play the part of all three." England 
has not been obliging enough to fulfil the Bailli's prophecy, 
and perhaps it was this very carelessness about the name, 

80 and concern about the substance of popular government, this 
skill in getting the best out of things as they are, in utilizing 
all the motives which influence men, and in giving one 
direction to many impulses, that has been a principal factor 
of her greatness and power. Perhaps it is fortunate to 

85 have an unwritten Constitution, for men are prone to be 
tinkering the work of their own hands, whereas they are 
more willing to let time and circumstance mend or modify 
what time and circumstance have made. All free govern- 
ments, whatever their name, are in reality governments by 

90 public opinion, and it is on the quality of this public opinion 
that their prosperity depends. It is, therefore, their first 
duty to purify the element from which they draw the breath 
of life. With the growth of democracy grows also the fear, 
if not the danger, that this atmosphere may be corrupted 

95 with poisonous exhalations from lower and more malarious 
levels, and the question of sanitation becomes more instant 
and pressing. Democracy in its best sense is merely the 
letting in of light and air. Lord Sherbrooke, with his usual 
epigrammatic terseness, bids you educate your future rulers. 
100 But would this alone be a sufficient safeguard ? To educate 
the intelligence is to enlarge the horizon of its desires and 
wants. And it is well that this should be so. But the en- 
terprise must go deeper and prepare the way for satisfying 
those desires and wants in so far as they are legitimate. 
105 What is really ominous of danger to the existing order of 
things is not democracy (which, properly understood, is a 
conservative force), but the Socialism which may find a 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 267 

fulcrum in it. If we cannot equalize conditions and for- 
tunes any more than we can equalize the brains of men — 
and a very sagacious person has said that " where two men 110 
ride of a horse one must ride behind '' — we can yet, perhaps, 
do something to correct those methods and influences that 
lead to enormous inequalities, and to prevent their growing 
more enormous. It is all very well to pooh-pooh Mr. 
George and to prove him mistaken in his political economy. 115 
I do not believe that land should be divided because the 
quantity of it is limited by nature. Of what may this not 
be said ? A fortiori, we might on the same principle insist 
on a division of human wit, for I have observed that the 
quantity of this has been even more inconveniently limited. 120 
Mr. George himself has an inequitably large share of it. 
But he is right in his impelling motive ; right, also, I am 
convinced, in insisting that humanity makes a part, by far 
the most important part, of political economy ; and in think- 
ing man to be of more concern and more convincing than 125 
the longest columns of figures in the world. For unless you 
include human nature in your addition, your total is sure to 
be wrong and your deductions from it fallacious. Com- 
munism means barbarism, but Socialism means, or wishes to 
mean, cooperation and community of interests, sympathy, i30 
the giving to the hands not so large a share as to the brains, 
but a larger share than hitherto in the wealth they must 
combine to produce — means, in short, the practical applica- 
tion of Christianity to life, and has in it the secret of an 
orderly and benign reconstruction. State Socialism would 135 
cut off the very roots in personal character — self-help, 
forethought, and frugality — which nourish and sustain the 
trunk and branches of every vigorous Commonwealth. 

I do not believe in violent changes, nor do I expect them. 
Things in possession have a very firm grip. One of the 140 
strongest cements of society is the conviction of mankind 



268 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

that the state of things into which they are born is a part 
of the order of the universe, as natural, let us say, as that 
the sun should go round the earth. It is a conviction that 

145 they will not surrender except on compulsion, and a wise 
society should look to it that this compulsion be not put 
upon them. For the individual man there is no radical cure, 
outside of human nature itself, for the evils to which human 
nature is heir. The rule will always hold good that you 

150 must 

" Be your own palace or the world's your gaol." 

But for artificial evils, for evils that spring from want of 
thought, thought must find a remedy somewhere. There 
has been no period of time in which wealth has been more 

155 sensible of its duties than now. It builds hospitals, it 
establishes missions among the poor, it endows schools. It 
is one of the advantages of accumulated wealth, and of the 
leisure it renders possible, that people have time to think 
of the wants and sorrows of their fellows. But all these 

160 remedies are partial and palliative merely. It is as if we 
should apply plasters to a single pustule of the small-pox 
with a view of driving out the disease. The true way is to 
discover and to extirpate the germs. As society is now con- 
stituted these are in the air it breathes, in the water it 

165 drinks, in things that seem, and which it has always be- 
lieved, to be the most innocent and healthful. The evil 
elements it neglects corrupt these in their springs and pol- 
lute them in their courses. Let us be of good cheer, how- 
ever, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are 

170 those which never come. The world has outlived much, 
and will outlive a great deal more, and men have contrived 
to be happy in it. It has shown the strength of its consti- 
tution in nothing more than in surviving the quack medi- 
cines it has tried. In the scales of the destinies brawn will 



SIDNEY LANIER 269 

never weigh so much as brain. Our healing is not in the 175 
storm or in the whirlwind, it is not in monarchies, or aris- 
tocracies, or democracies, but will be revealed by the still 
small voice that speaks to the conscience and the heart, 
prompting us to a wider and wiser humanity. 



SIDNEY LANIER 

My Springs ^ 

In the heart of the Hills of Life, I know 
Two springs that with unbroken flow 
Forever pour their lucent streams 
Into my soul's far Lake of Dreams. 

Not larger than two eyes, they lie 5 

Beneath the many-changing sky 
And mirror all of life and time, 

— Serene and dainty pantomime. 

Shot through with lights of stars and dawns, 

And shadowed sweet by ferns and fawns, 10 

— Thus heaven and earth together vie 
Their shining depths to sanctify. 

Alw^ays when the large Form of Love 

Is hid by storms that rage above, 

I gaze in my two springs and see jr 

Love in his very verity. 

Always when Faith with stifling stress 

Of grief hath died in bitterness, 

I gaze in my two springs and see 

A Faith that smiles immortally. 20 

iFrom " Poems of Sidney Lanier " : copyright, 1884, 1891 ; published 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



270 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Always when Charity and Hope, 
In darkness bounden, feebly grope, 
I gaze in my two springs and see 
A Light that sets my captives free. 

25 Always, when Art on perverse wing 

Flies where I cannot hear him sing, 
I gaze in my two springs and see 
A charm that brings him back to me. 

When Labor faints, and Glory fails, 
30 And coy Reward in sighs exhales, 

I gaze in my two springs and see 
Attainment full and heavenly. 

O Love, O Wife, thine eyes are they, 
— My springs from out whose shining gray 
35 Issue the sweet celestial streams 

That feed my life's bright Lake of Dreams. 

Oval and large and passion -pure 
And gray and wise and honor-sure ; 
Soft as a dying violet-breath 
40 , Yet calmly unafraid of death ; 

Thronged, like two dove-cotes of gray doves. 
With wife's and mother's and poor-folk's loves, 
And home-loves and high glory-loves 
And science-loves and story-loves, 

45 And loves for all that God and man 

In art and nature make or plan, 
And lady-loves for spidery lace 
And broideries and supple grace 

And diamonds and the whole sweet round 
50 Of littles that large life compound. 

And loves for God and God's bare truth. 
And loves for Magdalen and Ruth, 



SIDNEY LANIER 271 

Dear eyes, dear eyes and rare complete — 

Being heavenly-sweet and earthly-sweet, 

— I marvel that God made you mine, 55 

For when He frowns, 'tis then ye shine ! 



Song of the Chattahoochee ^ 

Out of the hills of Habersham, 

Down the valleys of Hall, 
I hurry amain to reach the plain, 
Run the rapid and leap the fall. 

Split at the rock and together again, 6 

Accept my bed, or narrow or wide. 
And flee from folly on every side 
With a lover's pain to attain the plain 

Far from the hills of Habersham, , 

Far from the valleys of Hall. 10 

All down the hills of Habersham, 

All through the valleys of Hall, 
The rushes cried Abide, abide, 
The willful waterweeds held me thrall. 

The laving laurel turned my tide, 15 

The ferns and the fondling grass said Stay, 
The dewberry dipped for to work delay, 
And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide, 

Here in the hills of Habersham, 

Here in the valleys of Hall. 20 

High o'er the hills of Habersham, 

Veiling the valleys of Hall, 
The hickory told me manifold 
Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall 
Wrought me her shadowy self to hold, 25 

1 From " Poems of Sidney Lanier " : copyright, 1884, 1891; published 
by Charles Scribner's Sons. 



272 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine, 
Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign, 
Said, Pass not, so cold, these manifold 

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, 
30 These glades in the valleys of Hall. 

And oft in the hills of Habersham, 
And oft in the valleys of Hall, 
The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone 
Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl, 
35 And many a luminous jewel lone 

— Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist. 
Ruby, garnet and amethyst — 
Made lures with the lights of streaming stone 
In the clefts of the hills of Habersham, 
40 In the beds of the valleys of Hall. 

But oh, not the hills of Habersham, 

And oh, not the valleys of Hall 
Avail : I am fain for to water the plain. 
Downward the voices of Duty call — 
45 Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main. 

The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn, 
And a myriad flowers mortally yearn, 
And the lordly main from beyond the plain 

Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, 
60 Calls through the valleys of Hall. 

HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 

The New South 

^' There was a South of slavery and secession — that South 
is dead. There is a South of union and freedom — that 
South, thank God, is living, breathing, growing every hour." 
These words, delivered from the immortal lips of Benjamin 
5H. Hill, at Tammany Hall, in 1866, true then and truer 
now, I shall make my text to-night. 



HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 273 

Mr. President and Gentlemen : Let me express to you my 
appreciation of the kindness by which I am permitted to 
address you. I make this abrupt acknowledgment advisedly, 
for I feel that if, when I raise my provincial voice in this 10 
ancient and august presence, it could find courage for no 
more than the opening sentence, it would be well if in that 
sentence I had met in a rough sense my obligation as a 
guest, and had perished, so to speak, with courtesy on my 
lips and grace in my heart. 15 

Permitted, through your kindness, to catch my second 
wind, let me say that I appreciate the significance of being 
the first Southerner to speak at this board, which bears the 
substance, if it surpasses the semblance, of original New 
England hospitality — and honors the sentiment that in 20 
turn honors you, but in which my personality is lost, and 
the compliment to my people made plain. 

I bespeak the utmost stretch of your courtesy to-night. 
I am not troubled about those from whom I come. You 
remember the man whose wife sent him to a neighbor with 25 
a pitcher of milk, and who, tripping on the top step, fell 
with such casual interruptions as the landings afforded into 
the basement, and, while picking himself up, had the pleas- 
ure of hearing his wife call out : " John, did you break the 
pitcher ?'' . 30 

"No, I didn't," said John, "but I'll be dinged if I don't." 

So, while those who call me from behind may inspire me 
with energy, if not with courage, I ask an indulgent hearing 
from you. I beg that you will bring your full faith in 
American fairness and frankness to judgment upon what 135 
shall say. There was an old preacher once who told some 
boys of the Bible lesson he was going to read in the morn- 
ing. The boys, finding the place, glued together the con- 
necting pages. The next morning he read on the bottom of 
one page, " When Noah was one hundred and twenty years 40 



274 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

old he took unto himself a wife, who was " — then turning 
the page — " 140 cubits long — 40 cubits wide, built of gopher 
wood — and covered with pitch inside and out." He was 
naturally puzzled at this. He read it again, verified it, and 

45 then said : " My friends, this is the first time I ever met 
this in the Bible, but I accept this as an evidence of the 
assertion that we are fearfully and wonderfully made." If 
I could get you to hold such faith to-night I could proceed 
cheerfully to the task I otherwise approach with a sense of 

50 consecration. 

Pardon me one word, Mr. President, spoken for the sole 
purpose of getting into the volumes that go out annually 
freighted with the rich eloquence of your speakers — the 
fact that the Cavalier, as well as the Puritan, was on the 

55 continent in its early days, and that he was " up and able 
to be about." I have read your books carefully and I find 
no mention of the fact, which seems to me an important one 
for preserving a sort of historical equilibrium, if for nothing 
else. 

60 Let me remind you that the Virginia Cavalier first chal- 
lenged France on the continent — that Cavalier John Smith 
gave New England its very name, and was so pleased with 
the job that he has been handing his own name around ever 
since — and that while Myles Standish was cutting off men's 

65 ears for courting a girl without her parent's consent, and 
forbade men to kiss their wives on Sunday, the Cavalier 
was courting everything in sight, and that the Almighty 
had vouchsafed great increase to the Cavalier colonies, the 
huts in the wilderness being as full as the nests in the 

70 woods. 

But having incorporated the Cavalier as a fact in your 
charming little books, I shall let him work out his own sal- 
vation, as he has always done, with engaging gallantry, and 
we will hold no controversy as to his merits. Why should 



HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 275 

we ? Neither Puritan nor Cavalier long survived as such. 75 
The virtues and good traditions of both happily still live 
for the inspiration of their sons and the saving of the old 
fashion. But both Puritan and Cavalier were lost in the 
storm of the first Revolution, and the American citizen, sup- 
planting both and stronger than either, took possession of 80 
the republic bought by their common blood and fashioned to 
wisdom, and charged himself with teaching men government 
and establishing the voice of the people as the voice of God. 

My friends, Dr. Talmage has told you that the typical 
American has yet to come. Let me tell you that he has 85 
already come. Great types, like valuable plants, are slow 
to flower and fruit. But from the union of these colonists, 
Puritans and Cavaliers, from the straightening of their pur- 
poses and the crossing of their blood, slow perfecting through 
a century, came he who stands as the first typical American, 90 
the first who comprehended within himself all the strength « 
and gentleness, all the majesty and grace of this republic — 
Abraham Lincoln. He was the sum of Puritan and Cavalier, 
for in his ardent nature were fused the virtues of both, and 
in the depths of his great soul the faults of both were lost. 95 
He was greater than Puritan, greater than Cavalier, in that 
he was American, and that in his honest form were first 
gathered the vast and thrilling forces of his ideal government 
— charging' it with such tremendous meaning and elevating 
it above human suffering that martyrdom, though infa- lOO 
mously aimed, came as a fitting crown to a life consecrated 
from the cradle to human liberty. Let us, each cherishing 
the traditions and honoring his fathers, build with reverent 
hands to the type of this simple but sublime life, in which 
all types are honored, and in our common glory as Americans 105 
there will be plenty and to spare for your forefathers and 
for mine. 

Dr. Talmage has drawn for you, with a master's hand, the 



276 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

picture of your returning armies. He has told you how, in 

110 the pomp and circumstance of war, they came back to you, 
marching with proud and victorious tread, reading their 
glory in a nation's eyes ! Will you bear with me while I 
tell you of another army that sought its home at the close 
of the late war — an army that marched home in defeat and 

115 not in victory — in pathos and not in splendor, but in glory 
that equaled yours, and to hearts as loving as ever welcomed 
heroes home ! 

Let me picture to you the footsore Confederate soldier, as 
buttoning up in his faded gray jacket the parole which was 

120 to bear testimony to his children of his fidelity and faith, he 
turned his face southward from Appomattox in April, 1865. 
Think of him as ragged, half -starved, heavy-hearted, en- 
feebled by want and wounds, having fought to exhaustion, 
he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his comrades in 

•125 silence, and lifting his tear-stained and pallid face for the 
last time to the graves that dot old Virginia hills, pulls his 
gray cap over his brow and begins the slow and painful 
journey. 

What does he find — let me ask you who went to your 

130 homes eager to find, in the welcome you had justly earned, 
full payment for four years' sacrifice — what does he find 
when, having followed the battle-stained cross against over- 
whelming odds, dreading death not half so much as surrender, 
he reaches the home he left so prosperous and beautiful ? 

135 He finds his house in ruins, his farm devastated, his slaves 
free, his stock killed, his barns empty, his trade destroyed, 
his money worthless, his social system, feudal in its mag- 
nificence, swept away ; his people without law or legal status ; 
his comrades slain, and the burdens of others heavy on his 

140 shoulders. Crushed by defeat, his very traditions are gone. 
Without money, credit, employment, material, or training ; 
and besides all this, confronted with the gravest problem 



HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 277 

that ever met human intelligence — the establishment of a 
status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. 

What does he do — this hero in gray with a heart of gold ? 145 
Does he sit down in sullenness and despair ? Not for a day. 
Surely God, who had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired 
him in his adversity. As ruin was never before so over- 
whelming, never was restoration swifter. 

The soldier stepped from the trenches into the furrow ; 150 
horses that had charged Federal guns marched before the 
plow, and fields that ran red with human blood in April 
were green with the harvest in June ; women reared in lux- 
ury cut up their dresses and made breeches for their hus- 
bands, and, with a patience and heroism that fit women 155 
always as a garment, gave their hands to work. There was 
little bitterness in all this. Cheerfulness and frankness 
prevailed. " Bill Arp " struck the key-note when he said : 
^' Well, I killed as many of them as they did of me, and 
now I'm going to work." So did the soldier returning home 160 
after defeat and roasting some corn on the roadside who 
made the remark to his comrades: "You may leave the 
South if you want to,*but I'm going to Sanders ville, kiss my 
wife and raise a crop, and if the Yankees fool with me any 
more, I'll whip 'em again." 165 

I want to say to General Sherman, who is considered an 
able man in our parts, though some people think he is a kind 
of careless rnan about fire, that from the ashes he left us in 
1864 we have raised a brave and beautiful city ; that some- 
how or other we have ca.ught the sunshine in the bricks and 170 
mortar of our homes, and have builded therein not one igno- 
ble prejudice or memory. 

But what is the sum of our work ? We have found out 
that in the summing up the free negro counts more than he 
did as a slave. We have planted the schoolhouse on the 175 
hilltop and made it free to white and black. We have 



278 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

sowed towns and cities in the place of theories, and put 
business above politics. We have challenged your spinners 
in Massachusetts and your iron-makers in Pennsylvania. 

180 We have learned that $400,000,000 annually received from 
our cotton crop will make us rich when the supplies that 
make it are home-raised. We have reduced the commercial 
rate of interest from 24 to 6 per cent., and are floating 4 per 
cent, bonds. We have learned that one Northern immigrant 

185 is worth fifty foreigners and have smoothed the path to 

Southward, wiped out the place where Mason and Dixon's 

line used to be, and hung out the latchstring to you and yours. 

We have reached the point that marks perfect harmony 

in every household, when the husband confesses that the 

190 pies which his wife cooks are as good as those his mother 
used to bake ; and we admit that the sun shines as brightly 
and the moon as softly as it did before the war. We have 
established thrift in city and country. We have fallen in 
love with work. We have restored comfort to homes from 

195 which culture and elegance never departed. We have let 
economy take root and spread among us as rank as the crab- 
grass which sprung from Sherman's cavalry camps, until we 
are ready to lay odds on the Georgia Yankee as he manu- 
factures relics of the battlefield in a one-story shanty and 

200 squeezes pure olive-oil out of his cottonseed, against any 
down-easter that ever swapped wooden nutmegs for flannel 
sausage in the valleys of Vermont. Above all, we know 
that we have achieved in these " piping times of peace " a 
fuller independence for the South than that which our 

205 fathers sought to win in the forum by their eloquence or 
compel in the field by their swords. 

It is a rare privilege, sir, to have had part, however 
humble, in this work. Never was nobler duty confided to 
human hands than the uplifting and upbuilding of the pros- 

2l0trate and bleeding South — misguided, perhaps, but beau- 



HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 279 

tiful in her suffering, and honest, brave, and generous al- 
ways. In the record of her social, industrial, and political 
illustration we await with confidence the verdict of the 
world. 

But what of the negro ? Have we solved the problem he 215 
presents or progressed in honor and equity toward solution ? 
Let the record speak to the point. No section shows a 
more prosperous laboring population than the negroes of the 
South, none in fuller sympathy with the employing and ■ 
land-owning class. He shares our school fund, has the full- 220 
est protection of our laws and the friendship of our people. 
Self-interest, as well as honor, 'demand that he should have 
this. Our future, our very existence depend upon our work- 
ing out this problem in full and exact justice. We under- 
stand tliat when Lincoln signed the emancipation proclama-225 
tion, your victory was assured, for he then committed you 
to the cause of human liberty, against which the arms of 
man cannot prevail — while those of our statesmen who 
trusted to make slavery the cornerstone of the Confederacy 
doomed us to defeat as far as they could, committing us to 230 
a cause that reason could not defend or the sword main- 
tain in sight of advancing civilization. 

Had Mr. Toombs said, which he did not say, "that he 
would call the roll of his slaves at the foot of Bunker Hill," 
he would have been foolish, for he might have known that 235 
whenever slavery became entangled in war it must perish, 
and that the chattel in human flesh ended forever in New 
England when your fathers — not to be blamed for parting 
with what didn't pay — sold their slaves to our fathers — 
not to be praised for knowing a paying thing when they 240 
saw it. The relations of the Southern people with the negro 
are close and cordial. We remember with what fidelity for 
four years he guarded our defenseless women and children, 
whose husbands and fathers were fighting against his free- 



280 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

245 dom. To his eternal credit be it said that whenever he 
struck a blow for his own liberty he fought in open battle, 
and when at last he raised his black and humble hands that 
the shackles might be struck off, those hands were innocent 
of wrong against his helpless charges, and worthy to be 

250 taken in loving grasp by every man who honors loyalty and 
devotion. Ruffians have maltreated him, rascals have mis- 
led him, philanthropists established a bank for him, but the 
South, with the North, protests against injustice to this 
simple and sincere people. 

255 To liberty and enfranchisement is as far as law can carry 
the negro. The rest must be left to conscience and common 
sense. It must be left to those among whom his lot is cast, 
with whom he is indissolubly connected, and whose pros- 
perity depends upon their possessing his intelligent sym- 

260 pathy and confidence. Faith has been kept with him, in 
spite of calumnious assertions to the contrary by those who 
assume to speak for us or by frank opponents. Faith will 
be kept with him in the future, if the South holds her rea- 
son and integrity. 

265 But have we kept faith with you ? In the fullest sense, 
yes. When Lee surrendered — I don't say when Johnston 
surrendered, because I understand he still alludes to the time 
when he met General Sherman last as the time when he de- 
termined to abandon any further prosecution of the struggle 

270 — when Lee surrendered, I say, and Johnston quit, the 
South became and has since been, loyal to this Union. We 
fought hard enough to know that we were whipped, and in 
perfect frankness accept as final the arbitrament of the sword 
to which we had appealed. The South found her jewel in 

275 the toad's head of defeat. The shackles that had held her 
in narrow limitations fell forever when the shackles of the 
negro slave were broken. Under the old regime the negroes 
were slaves to the South: the South was a slave to the 



HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 281 

system. The old plantation, with its simple police regula- 
tions and feudal habit, was the only type possible under 280 
slavery. Thus was gathered in the hands of a splendid and 
chivalric oligarchy the substance that should have been dif- 
fused among the people, as the rich blood, under certain 
artificial conditions, is gathered at the heart, filling that with 
affluent rapture but leaving the body chill and colorless. 285 

The old South rested everything on slavery and agricul- 
ture, unconscious that these could neither give nor maintain 
healthy growth. The new South presents a perfect de- 
mocracy, the oligarchs leading in the popular movement — a 
social system compact and closely knitted, less splendid on 290 
the surface, but stronger at the core — a hundred farms for 
every plantation, fifty homes for every palace — and a diver- 
sified industry that meets the complex needs of this complex 
age. 

The new South is enamored of her new work. Her soul 295 
is stirred with the breath of a new life. The light of a 
grander day is falling fair on her face. She is thrilling with 
the consciousness of growing power and prosperity. As she 
stands upright, full-statured and equal among the people of 
the earth, breathing the keen air and looking out upon the 300 
expanded horizon, she understands that her emancipation 
came because through the inscrutable wisdom of God her 
honest purpose was crossed, and her brave armies were 
beaten. 

This is said in no spirit of time-serving or apology. The 305 
South has nothing for which to apologize. She believes 
that the late struggle between the States was war and not 
rebellion ; revolution and not conspiracy, and that her con- 
victions were as honest as yours. I should be unjust to the 
dauntless spirit of the South and to my own convictions if 310 
I did not make this plain in this presence. The South has 
nothing to take back. 



282 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

In ray native town of Athens is a monument that crowns 

its central hill — a plain, white shaft. Deep cut into its 

315 shining side is a name dear to me above the names of men 

— that of a brave and simple man who died in brave and 
simple faith. Not for all the glories of New England, from 
Plymouth Rock all the w^ay, would I exchange the heritage 
he left me in his soldier's death. To the foot of that I shall 

320 send my children's children to reverence him who ennobled 
their name with his heroic blood. But, sir, speaking from 
the shadow of that memory which I honor as I do nothing 
else on earth, I say that the cause in which he suffered and 
for which he gave his life was adjudged by higher and fuller 

325 wisdom than his or mine, and I am glad that the omniscient 
God held the balance of battle in His Almighty hand and 
that human slavery was swept forever from American soil 

— that the American Union was saved from the wreck of 
war. 

330 This message, Mr. President, comes to you from con- 
secrated ground. Every foot of soil about the city in which 
I live is sacred as a battle-ground of the republic. Every 
hill that invests it is hallowed to you by the blood of your 
brothers who died for your victory, and doubly hallowed to 

335 us by the blood of those who died hopeless, but undaunted, 
in defeat — sacred soil to all of us — rich with memories 
that make us purer and stronger and better — silent but 
staunch witnesses in its red desolation of the matchless 
valor of American hearts and the deathless glory of Ameri- 

340 can arms— speaking an eloquent witness in its white peace 
and prosperity to the indissoluble union of American States 
and the imperishable brotherhood of the American people. 

Now, what answer has New England to this message? 
Will she permit the prejudice of war to remain in the hearts 

345 of the conquerors, when it has died in the hearts of the 
conquered ? Will she transmit this prejudice to the next 



HENRY WOODFIN GRADY 283 

generation, that in their hearts which never felt the generous 
ardor of conflict it may perpetuate itself ? Will she with- 
hold, save in strained courtesy, the hand which straight 
from his soldier's heart Grant offered to Lee at Appomattox ? 350 
Will she make the vision of a restored and happy people, 
which gathered above the couch of your dying captain, fill- 
ing his heart with grace, touching his lips with praise, and 
glorifying his path to the grave — will she make this vision 
on which the last sigh of his expiring soul breathed a bene- 355 
diction, a cheat and delusion ? 

If she does, the South, never abject in asking for comrade- 
ship, must accept with dignity its refusal ] but if she does 
not refuse to accept in frankness' and sincerity this message 
of good will and friendship, then will the prophecy of Web- 360 
ster, delivered in this very society forty years ago amid 
tremendous applause, become true, be verified in its fullest 
sense, when he said : " Standing hand to hand and clasping 
hands, we should remain united as we have been for sixty 
years, citizens of the same country, members of the same 365 
government, united, all united now and united forever." 
There have been difficulties, contentions, and controversies, 
but I tell you that in my judgment, 

" Those opened eyes, 
Which like the meteors of a troubled heaven, 370 

All of one nature, of one substance bred, 
Did lately meet in th' intestine shock. 
Shall now, in mutual well beseeming ranks, 
March all one way." 



284 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS ^ 

Advantages of Not Traveling 

{From Prue and I) 

I do not know how it is, but surely Nature makes kindly- 
provision. An imagination so easily excited as mine could 
not have escaped disappointment if it had had ample op- 
portunity and experience of the lands it so longed to see. 
5 Therefore, although I made the India voyage, I have never 
been a traveler, and, saving the little time I was ashore in 
India, I did not lose the sense of novelty and romance 
which the first sight of foreign lands inspires. 

That little time was all my foreign travel. I am glad of 

10 it. I see now that I should never have found the country 
from which the East Indiaman of my early days arrived. 
The palm groves do not -grow with which that hand laid 
upon the ship placed me in magic conception. As for the 
lovely Indian maid whom the palmy arches bowered, she 

15 has long since clasped some native lover to her bosom, and, 
ripened into mild maternity, how should I know her now ? 
" You would find her quite as easily now as then," says 
my Prue, when I speak of it. 

She is right again, as usual, that precious woman ; and it 

20 is therefore I feel that if the chances of life have moored 
me fast to a book-keeper's desk, they have left all the lands 
I longed to see fairer and fresher in my mind than they 
could ever be in my memory. Upon my only voyage I 
used to climb into the top and search the horizon for the 

25 shore. But now in a moment of calm thought I see a more 
Indian India than ever mariner discerned, and do not envy 

iThe extracts from Prue and I and The Public Duty of Educated 
Men are used by permission of Harper and Brotliers, authorized pub- 
lishers of Curtis's works. 



GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 285 

the youths who go there and make fortunes, who wear grass- 
cloth jackets, drink iced beer, and eat curry ; whose minds 
fall asleep, and whose bodies have liver complaints. 

Unseen by me forever, nor ever regretted, shall wave the 30 
Egyptian palms and the Italian pines. Untrodden by me, 
the Forum shall still echo with the footfall of imperial 
Rome, and the Parthenon, unrifled of its marbles, look per- 
fect across the ^gean blue. My young friends return from 
their tours elate with the smiles of a nameless Italian or 35 
Parisian belle. I know not such cheap delights ; I am a 
suitor of Vittoria Colonna; I walk with Tasso along the 
terraced garden of the Villa d'Este, and look to see Beatrice 
smiling down the rich gloom of the cypress shade. You 
stayed at the Hotel Europa in Venice, at Danieli's, or the 40 
Leone Bianco; I am the guest of Marino Faliero, and I 
whisper to his wife, as we climb the giant staircase in the 
summer moonlight, 

" Ah ! senza am are 
Andare sul mare, 45 

Col sposo del mare, 
Non puo consolare." 

It is for the same reason that I did not care to dine with 
you and Aurelia that I am content not to stand in St. 
Peter's. Alas ! if I could see the end of it, it would not be 50 
St. Peter's. For those of us whom Nature means to keep 
at home she provides entertainment. One man goes four 
thousand miles to Italy and does not see it, he is so short- 
sighted. Another is so far-sighted that he stays in his 
room and sees more than Italy. 55 

But for this very reason that it washes the shores of my 
possible Europe and Asia, the sea draws me constantly to 
itself. Before I came to New York, while I was still a 
clerk in Boston, courting Prue and living out of town, 



286 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

60 1 never knew of a ship sailing for India, or even for ^Eng- 
land and France, but I went up to the State-house cupola or 
to the observatory on some friend's house in Roxbury, 
where I could not be interrupted, and there watched the 
departure. 

65 The sails hung ready ; the ship lay in the stream ; busy 
little boats and puffing steamers darted about it, clung to 
its sides, paddled away from it, or led the way to sea, as 
minnows might pilot a whale. The anchor was slowly 
swung at the bow ; I could not hear the sailors' song, but I 

70 knew they were singing. I could not see the parting 
friends, but I knew farewells were spoken. I did not share 
the confusion, although I knew what bustle there was, what 
hurry, what shouting, what creaking, what fall of ropes and 
iron, what sharp oaths, low laughs, whispers, sobs. But I 

75 was cool, high, separate. To me it was 

" A painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean." 



Evils of Party Spirit 

{From The Public Duty of Educated Men) 

Undoubtedly a practical and active interest in politics 
will lead you to party association and co-operation. Great 
public results — the repeal of the corn laws in England, the 
abolition of slavery in America — are due to that organi- 

5 zation of effort and concentration of aim which arouse, in- 
struct, and inspire the popular heart and will. This is 
the spring of party, and those who earnestly seek practical 
results instinctively turn to this agency of united action. 
But in this tendency, useful in the state as the fire upon 

10 the household hearth, lurks, as in that fire, the deadliest 
peril. Here is our republic — it is a ship with towering 



GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 287 

canvas spread, sweeping before the prosperous gale over a 
foaming and sparkling sea; it is a lightning train, darting 
with awful speed along the edge of dizzy abysses and across 
bridges that quiver over unsounded gulfs. Because we are 15 
Americans, we have no peculiar charm, no magic spell, to 
stay the eternal laws. Our safety lies alone in cool self- 
possession, directing the forces of wind and wave and fire. 
If once the madness to which the excitement tends usurps 
control, the catastrophe is inevitable. And so deep is the 20 
conviction that sooner or later this madness must seize 
every republic, that the most plausible suspicion of the 
permanence of the American government is founded in the 
belief that party spirit cannot be restrained. It is indeed a 
master passion, but its control is the true conservatism of 25 
the republic and of happy human progress ; and it is men 
made familar by education with the history of its ghastly 
catastrophes, men with the proud courage of independence, 
who are to temper by lofty action, born of that knowledge, 
the ferocity of party spirit. 30 

The first object of concerted political action is the highest 
welfare of the country. But the conditions of party associa- 
tion are such that the means are constantly and easily sub- 
stituted for the end. The sophistry is subtle and seductive. 
Holding the ascendency of his party essential to the national 35 
welfare, the zealous partisan merges patriotism in party. 
He insists that not to sustain the party is to betray the 
country, and against all honest doubt and reasonable 
hesitation and reluctance, he vehemently urges that quibbles 
of conscience must be sacrificed to the public good; that 40 
wise and practical men will not be squeamish; that every 
soldier in the army cannot indulge his own whims ; and 
that if the majority may justly prevail in determining the 
government, it must not be questioned in the control of a 
party. 45 



288 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

This spirit adds moral coercion to sophistry. It de- 
nounces as a traitor him who protests against party tyranny, 
and it makes unflinching adherence to what is called regular 
party action the condition of the gratification of honorable 

50 political ambition. Because a man who sympathizes with 
the party aims refuses to vote for a thief, this spirit scorns 
him as a rat and a renegade. Because he holds to principle 
and law against party expediency and dictation, he is pro- 
claimed to have betrayed his country, justice, and humanity. 

55 Because he tranquilly insists upon deciding for himself 
when he must dissent from his party, he is reviled as a 
popinjay and a visionary fool. Seeking with honest pur- 
pose only the welfare of his country, the hot air around him 
hums with the cry of " the grand old party," " the traditions 

60 of the party," " loyalty to the party," " future of the party," 
" servant of the party," and he sees and hears the gorged and 
portly money-changers in the temple usurping the ver}^ di- 
vinity of the God. Young hearts! be not dismayed. If 
ever any one of you shall be the man so denounced, do not 

65 forget that your own individual convictions are the whip of 
small cords which God has put into your hands to expel the 
blasphemers. 

The same party spirit naturally denies the patriotism of 
its opponents. Identifying itself with the country, it re- 

70gards all others as public enemies. This is substantially 
revolutionary politics. It is the condition of France, where, 
in its own words, the revolution is permanent. Instead of 
regarding the other party as legitimate opponents — in the 
English phrase. His Majesty's Opposition — law^fully seek- 

75 ing a different policy under the government, it decries that 
party as a conspiracy plotting the overthrow of the govern- 
ment itself. History is lurid with the wasting fires of this 
madness. We need not look to that of other lands. Our 
own is full of it. It is painful to turn to the opening years 



GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS 289 

of the Union, and see how the great men whom we are 80 
taught to revere, and to whose fostering care the beginning 
of the republic was intrusted, fanned their hatred and sus- 
picion of each other. Do not trust the flattering voices that 
whisper of a Golden Age behind us, and bemoan our own 
as a degenerate day. The castles of hope always shine 85 
along the horizon. Our fathers saw theirs where we are 
standing. We behold ours where our fathers stood. But 
pensive regret for the heroic past, like eager anticipation of 
the future, shows only that the vision of a loftier life for- 
ever allures the human soul. We think our fathers to have 90 
been wiser than we, and their day more enviable. But 
eighty years ago the Federalists abhorred their opponents 
as Jacobins, and thought Robespierre and Marat no worse 
than Washington's Secretary of State. The opponents re- 
torted that the Federalists were plotting to establish a 95 
monarchy by force of arms. The New England pulpit 
anathematized Tom Jefferson as an atheist and a satyr. 
Jefferson denounced John Jay as a rogue, and the chief 
newspaper of the opposition, on the morning that Washing- 
ton retired from the presidency, thanked God that the 100 
country was now rid of the man who was the source of all 
its misfortunes. There is no mire in which party spirit 
wallows to-day with which our fathers were not befouled, 
and how little sincere the vituperation was, how shallow a 
fury, appears when Jefferson and Adams had retired from 105 
public life. Then they corresponded placidly and famil- 
iarly, each at last conscious of the other's fervent patriotism ; 
and when they died, they were lamented in common by 
those who in their names had flown at each other's throats, 
as the patriarchal Castor and Pollux of the pure age of HO 
our politics, now fixed as a constella.tion of hope in our 
heaven. 

The same brutal spirit showed itself at the time of An- 



290 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

drew Johnson's impeachment. Impeachment is a proceed- 

115 ing to be instituted only for great public reasons, which 
should, presumptively, command universal support. To 
prostitute the power of impeachment to a mere party pur- 
pose would readily lead to the reversal of the result of an 
election. But it was made a party measure. The party 

120 was to be whipped into its support : and when certain Sen- 
ators broke the party yoke upon their necks, and voted 
according to their convictions, as honorable men always 
will, whether the 'party whips like it or not, one of the 
whippers-in exclaimed of a patriotism, the struggle of obe- 

125 dience to which cost one Senator, at least, his life — " If 
there is anything worse than the treachery, it is the cant 
which pretends that it is the result of conscientious convic- 
tion ; the pretense of a conscience is quite unbearable." 
This was the very acridity of bigotry, which in other times 

130 and countries raised the cruel tribunal of the Inquisition, 
and burned opponents for the glory of God. The party 
madness that dictated these words, and the sympathy that 
approved them, was treason not alone to the country but 
to well-ordered human society. Murder may destroy great 

135 statesmen, but corruption makes great states impossible; 
and this was an attempt at the most insidious corruption. 
The man who attempts to terrify a Senator of the United 
States to cast a dishonest vote, by stigmatizing him as a 
hypocrite and devoting him to party hatred, is only a more 

140 plausible rascal than his opponent who gives Pat O'Flana- 
gan a fraudulent naturalization paper or buys his vote with a 
dollar or a glass of whisky. Whatever the offenses of the 
President may have been, they were as nothing when com- 
pared with the party spirit which declared that it was tired 

145 of the intolerable cant of honesty. So the sneering Cavalier 
was tired of the cant of the Puritan conscience; but the 
conscience of which plumed Injustice and coroneted Privi- 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 291 

lege were tired has been for three centuries the invincible 
bodyguard of civil and religious liberty. 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 
To William Lloyd Garrison 

Champion of those who groan beneath 

Oppression's iron hand : 
In view of penury, hate, and death, 

I see thee fearless stand. 
Still bearing up thy lofty brow, 5 

In the steadfast strength of truth, 
In manhood sealing well the vow 

And promise of thy youth. 

Go on, for thou hast chosen well ; 

On in the strength of God ! 10 

Long as one human heart shall swell 

Beueath the tyrant's rod. 
Speak in a slumbering nation's ear. 

As thou hast ever spoken, 
Until the dead in sin shall hear, 15 

The fetter's link be broken ! 

I love thee with a brother's love, 

I feel my pulses thrill, 
To mark thy spirit soar above 

The cloud of human ill. 20 

My heart hath leaped to answer thine, 

And echo back thy words, 
As leaps the warrior's at the shine 

And flash of kindred swords ! 

They tell me thou art rash and vain, 25 

A searcher after fame ; 
That thou art striving but to gain 

A long -enduring name ; 



292 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

That thou hast nerved the Afric's hand 
30 And steeled the Afric's heart, 

To shake aloft his vengeful brand, 
And rend his chain apart. 

» Have I not known thee well, and read 
Thy mighty purpose long? 
35 And watched the trials which have made 

Thy human spirit strong ? 
And shall the slanderer's demon breath 

Avail with one like me. 
To dim the sunshine of my faith 
40 And earnest trust in thee ? 

Go on, the dagger's point may glare 

Amid thy pathway's gloom ; 
The fate which sternly threatens there 

Is glorious martyrdom ! 
45 Then onward with a martyr's zeal ; 

And wait thy sure reward 
When man to man no more shall kneel, 

And God alone be Lord ! 



Proem 

I love the old melodious lays 
Which softly melt the ages through, 
The songs of Spenser's golden days, 
Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, 
5 Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew. 

Yet, vainly in my quiet hours 
To breath their marvellous notes I try ; 
I feel them, as the leaves and flowers 
In silence feel the dewy showers, 
10 And drink with glad, still lips the blessing of the sky. 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 293 

The rigor of a frozen clime, 
The harshness of an untaught ear, 

The jarring words of one whose rhyme 

Beat often Labor's hurried time, 
Or Duty's rugged march through storm and strife, are here. 15 

Of mystic beauty, dreamy grace. 
No rounded art the lack supplies ; 

Unskilled the subtle lines to trace. 

Or softer shades of Nature's face, 
I view her common forms with unanointed eyes. 20 

Nor mine the seer-like power to show 
The secrets of the heart and mind ; 

To drop the plummet-line below 

Our common world of joy and woe, 
A more intense despair or brighter hope to find. 25 

Yet here at least an earnest sense 
Of human right and weal is shown; 

A hate of tyranny intense. 

And hearty in its vehemence. 
As if my brother's pain and sorrow were my own. 30 

O Freedom ! if to me belong 
Nor mighty Milton's gift divine. 

Nor Marvell's wit and graceful song. 

Still with a love as deep and strong 
As theirs, I lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine ! 35 



Ichabod 

So fallen ! so lost ! the light withdrawn 

Which once he wore ! 
The glory from his gray hairs gone 

Fore verm ore ! 



294 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

5 Revile him not, the Tempter hath 

A snare for all ; 
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 
Befit his fall ! 

Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage, 
10 When he who might 

Have lighted up and led his age, 
Falls back in night. 

Scorn ! would the angels laugh, to mark 
A bright soul driven, 
15 Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 

From hope and heaven ! 

Let not the land once proud of him 

Insult him now. 
Nor brand with deeper shame his dim, 
20 Dishonored brow. 

But let its humbled sons, instead, 

From sea to lake, 
A long lament, as for the dead. 

In sadness make. 

25 Of all we loved and honored, naught 

Save power remains ; 
A fallen angel's pride of thought, 
Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone ; from those great eyes 
30 The soul has fled : 

When faith is lost, when honor dies, 
The man is dead ! 

Then pay the reverence of old days 
To his dead fame ; 
35 Walk backward, with averted gaze, 

And hide the shame ! 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 295 



Skipper Ireson's Ride 

Of all the rides since the birth of time, 

Told in story or sung in rhyme, — 

On Apuleius's Golden Ass, 

Or one-eyed Calender's horse of brass, 

Witch astride of a human back, 6 

Islam's prophet on Al-Bordk, — 

The strangest ride that ever was sped 

Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead ! 

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 

Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 10 

By the women of Marblehead ! 

Body of turkey, head of owl. 

Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl. 

Feathered and ruffled in every part, 

Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 15 

Scores of women, old and young, 

Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue. 

Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, 

Shouting and singing the shrill refrain : 

'Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 20 

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead ! ' 

)Vrinkled scolds with hands on hips, 

Girls in bloom of cheek and lips. 

Wild-eyed, and free-limbed, such as chase 25 

Bacchus round some antique vase, 

Brief of skirt, with ankles bare. 

Loose of kerchief and loose of hair. 

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, 

Over and over the Msenads sang : 30 

* Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead ! ' 



296 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Small pity for him ! — He sailed away 
35 From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, — 

Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
With his own town's-people on her deck ! 
* Lay by ! lay by ! ' they called to him. 
Back he answered, ' Sink or swim ! 
40 Brag of your catch of fish again ! ' 

And off he sailed through the fog and rain ! 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 



45 Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 

That wreck shall lie forevermore. 
^Mother and sister, wife and maid. 
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead 
Over the moaning and rainy sea, — 
50 Looked for the coming that might not be ! 

What did the winds and the sea-birds say 
Of the cruel captain who sailed away ? — 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
55 By the women of Marblehead ! 



Through the street, on either side, 
Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; 
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, 
Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. 

60 Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 

Hulks of old sailors run aground. 
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane. 
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : 
' Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 

65 Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 

By the women o' Morble'ead ! ' 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 297 

Sweetly along the Salem road 

Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. 

Little the wicked skipper knew 

Of the fields so greeu and the sky so blue. 70 

Riding there in his sorry trim, 

Like an Lidian idol glum and grim, 

Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear 

Of voices shouting, far and near: 

' Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 75 

Torr'd an' f utherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead ! ' 



' Here me, neighbors ! ' at last he cried, — 

' What to me is this noisy ride ? 

What is the shame that clothes the skin ^^ 

To the nameless horror that lives within ? 

AVaking or sleeping, I see a wreck. 

And hear a cry from a reeling deck ! 

Hate me and curse me, — I only dread 

The hand of God and the face of the dead ! ' ^^ 

Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 

Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 



Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea 

Said, ' God has touched him ! why should we ! ' 90 

Said an old wife mourning her only son, 

' Cut the rogue's tether and let him run ! ' 

So with soft relentings and rude excuse. 

Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 

And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 96 

And left him alone with his shame and sin. 

Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 

Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 



298 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

My Playmate 

The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, 
Their song was soft and low ; 

The blossoms in the sweet May wind 
Were falling like the snow. 

6 The blossoms drifted at our feet, 

The orchard birds sang clear; 
The sweetest and the saddest day 
It seemed of all the year. 

For, more to me than birds or flowers, 
10 My playmate left her home, 

And took with her the laughing spring, 
The music and the bloom. 

She kissed the lips of kith and kin, 
She laid her hand in mine : 
15 What more could ask the bashful boy 

Who fed her father's kine? 

She left us in the bloom of May : 

The constant years told o'er 
Their seasons with as sweet May morns, 
20 But she came back no more. 

I walk, with noiseless feet, the round 

Of uneventful years; 
Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring 

And reap the autumn ears. 

25 She lives where all the golden year 

Her summer roses blow; 
The dusky children of the sun 
Before her come and go. 

There haply with her jewelled hands 
30 She smooths her silken gown,— 

No more the homespun lap wherein 
I shook the walnuts down. 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 299 

The wild grapes wait us by the brook, 

The brown nuts on the hill, 
And still the May-day flowers make sweet 35 

The woods of Follymill. 

The lilies blossom in the pond, 

The bird builds in the tree. 
The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill 

The slow song of the sea. 40 

I wonder if she thinks of them, 

And how the old time seems, — 
If ever the pines of Ramoth wood 

Are sounding in her dreams. 

I see her face, I hear her voice ; .r 

Does she remember mine? 
And what to her is now the boy 

Who fed her father's kine ? 

What cares she that the orioles build 

For other eyes than ours, — ^q 

That other hands with nuts are filled, 

And other laps with flowers ? 

O playmate in the golden time ! 

Our mossy ^eat is green, 
Its fringing violets blossom yet, 55 

The old trees o'er it lean. 

The winds so sweet with birch and fern 

A sweeter memory blow ; 
And there in spring the veeries sing 

The song of long ago. 60 

And still the pines of Ramoth wood 

Are moaning like the sea, — 
The moaning of the sea of change 

Between myself and thee ! 



300 AMERICAN LITERATURE 



Laus Deo! 

It is done ! 
Clang of bell and roar of gun 
Send the tidings up and down. 
How the belfries rock and reel ! 
5 How the great guns, peal on peal, 

Fling the joy from town to town ! 

Ring, O bells ! 
Every stroke exulting tells 
Of the burial hour of crime. 
10 Loud and long, that all may hear, 

Ring for every listening ear 
Of Eternity and Time ! 

Let us kneel : 
God's own voice is in that peal, 
15 And this spot is holy ground. 

Lord, forgive us ! What are we, 
That our eyes this glory see. 
That our ears have heard the sound ! 

For the Lord 
20 On the whirlwind is abfroad ; 

In the earthquake He has spoken ; 
He has smitten with his thunder 
The iron walls asunder, 
And the gates of brass are broken ! 

25 Loud and long 

Lift the old exulting song ; 
Sing with Miriam by the sea. 
He has cast the mighty down ; 
Horse and rider sink and drown ; 

30 ' He hath triumphed gloriously ! ' 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 301 

Did we dare, 

In our agony of prayer, 
Ask for more than He has done? 

When was ever his right hand 

Over any time or land 35 

Stretched as now beneath the sun ? 

How they pale. 

Ancient myth and song and tale, 
In this wonder of our days. 

When the cruel rod of war 40 

Blossoms white with righteous law, 
And the wrath of man is praise ! 

Blotted out ! 

All within and all about 
Shall a fresher life begin ; 45 

Freer breathe the universe 

As it rolls its heavy curse 
On the dead and buried sin ! 

It is done ! 

In the circuit of the sun 50 

Shall the sound thereof go forth. 

It shall bid the sad rejoice, 

It shall give the dumb a voice. 
It shall belt with joy the earth ! 

Ring and swing, 55 

Bells of joy ! On morning's wing 
Send the song of praise abroad ! 

With a sound of broken chains 

Tell the nations that He reigns, 
Who alone is Lord and God ! qq 



302 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

In School-days 

Still sits the school-house by the road, 
A ragged beggar sleeping ; 

Around it still the sumachs grow, 
And blackberry-vines are creeping. 

5 Within, the master's desk is seen, 

Deep scarred by raps official ; 
The warping floor, the battered seats, 
The jack-knife's carved initial ; 

The charcoal frescoes on its wall ; 
10 Its door's worn sill, betraying 

The feet that, creeping slow to school, 
Went storming out to playing! 

Long years ago a winter sun 
Shone over it at setting; 
15 Lit up its western window-panes. 

And low eaves' icy fretting. 

It touched the tangled golden curls, 
And brown eyes full of grieving, 
Of one who still her steps delayed 
20 When all the school were leaving. 

For near her stood the little boy 
Her childish favor singled : 

His cap pulled low upon a face 

Where pride and shame were mingled. 

25 Pushing with restless feet the snow 

To right and left, he lingered ; — 
As restlessly her tiny hands 

The blue-checked apron fingered. 

He saw her lift her eyes; he felt 
30 The soft hand's light caressing. 

And heard the tremble of her voice, 
As if a fault confessing. 



JOHN GREExNLEAF WHITTIER 303 

' I'm sorry that I spelt the word : 

I hate to go above you, 
Because,' — the brown eyes lower fell, — 35 

' Because, you see, I love you ! ' 

Still memory to a gray-haired man 

That sweet child-face is showing. 
Dear girl ! the grasses on her grave 

Have forty years been growing ! 40 

He lives to learn, in life's hard school, 

How few who pass above him 
Lament t.heir triumph and his loss, 

Like her, — because they love him. 



The Lost Occasion 

Some die too late and some too soon. 

At early morning, heat of noon, 

Or the chill evening twilight. Thou, 

Whom the rich heavens did so endow 

With eyes of power and Jove's own brow, 6 

With all the massive strength that fills 

Thy home-horizon's granite hills, 

With rarest gifts of heart and head 

From manliest stock inherited. 

New England's stateliest type of man, 10 

In port and speech Olympian ; 

Whom no one met, at first, but took 

A second awed and wondering look 

(As turned, perchance, the eyes of Greece 

On Phidias' unveiled masterpiece) ; 15 

Whose words in simplest homespun clad, 

The Saxon strength of Csedmon's had. 

With power reserved at need to reach 

The Roman forum's loftiest speech, 

Sweet with persuasion, eloquent 20 

In passion, cool in argument, 



304 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Or, ponderous, falling on thy foes 

As fell the Norse god's hammer blows. 

Crushing as if with Talus' flail 

25 Through Error's logic-woven mail. 

And failing only when they tried 
The adamant of the righteous side, — 
Thou, foiled in aim and hope, bereaved 
Of old friends, by the new deceived, 

30 Too soon for us, too soon for thee. 

Beside thy lonely Northern sea. 
Where long and low the marsh-lands spread. 
Laid wearily down thy august head. 

Thou shouldst have lived to feel below 

35 Thy feet Disunion's fierce upthrow ; 

The late-sprung mine that underlaid 
Thy sad concessions vainly made. 
Thou shouldst have seen from Sumter's wall 
The star-flag of the Union fall, 

40 And armed rebellion pressing on 

The broken lines of Washington ! 
No stronger voice than thine had then 
Called out the utmost might of men. 
To make the Union's charter free 

45 And strengthen law by liberty. 

How had that stern arbitrament 
To thy gray age youth's vigor lent, 
Shaming ambition's paltry prize 
Before thy disillusioned eyes ; 

50 Breaking the spell about thee wound 

Like the green withes that Samson bound ; 
Redeeming in one effort grand. 
Thyself and thy imperilled land ! 
Ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, 

55 O sleeper by the Northern sea. 

The gates of opportunity ! 
God fills the gaps of human need, 
Each crisis brings its word and deed. 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 305 

Wise men and strong we did not lack ; 

But still, with memory turning back, 60 

In the dark hours we thought of thee, 

And thy lone grave beside the sea. 

Above that grave the east winds blow. 

And from the marsh-lands drifting slow 

The sea-fog comes, with evermore 65 

The wave-wash of a lonely shore. 

And sea-bird's melancholy cry. 

As Nature fain would typify 

The sadness of a closing scene. 

The loss of that which should have been. 70 

But, where thy native mountains bare 

Their foreheads to diviner air, 

Fit emblem of enduring fame, 

One lofty summit keeps thy name. 

For thee the cosmic forces did 75 

The rearing of that pyramid. 

The prescient ages shaping with 

Fire, flood, and frost thy monolith. 

Sunrise and sunset lay thereon 

With hands of light their benison, 80 

The stars of midnight pause to set 

Their jewels in its coronet. 

And evermore that mountain mass 

Seems climbing from the shadowy pass 

To light, as if to manifest 85 

Thy nobler self, thy life at best ! 



306 AMERICAN LITERATURE 



WALT WHITMAN » 

A Child's Question 

{Fi'om Song of Myself) 

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands; 
How could I answer the child ? I do not know what it is any more 
than he. 

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green 
stuff woven. 

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, 
5 A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt, 
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may 
see and remark, and say Whose ? 

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the 
vegetation. 

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, 

And it means. Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, 
10 Growing among black folks as among white, 

Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I 
receive them the same. 

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. 

Tenderly will I use you curling grass, 
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men, 
15 It may be if I had known them I would have loved them. 

It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon 

out of their mothers' laps. 
And here you are the mothers' laps. 

iThe poems of Walt Whitman here printed are used by permission of 
Messrs. Horace Traubel and Thomas B. Harned, the poet's executors. 
Small, Mayuard & Company are the authorized publishers of Whitman's 
works. 



WALT WHITMAN 307 

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers, 

Darker than the colorless beards of old men, 

Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. 20 

I perceive after all so many uttering tongues, 

And I perceive they do not not come from the roofs of mouths for 
nothing. 

1 wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and 
women. 

And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken 
soon out of their laps. 

What do you think has become of the young and old men ? 25 

And what do you think has become of the women and children ? 

They are alive and well somewhere. 

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. 

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the 

end to arrest it, 
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. 30 

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, 

And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier. 



Mannahatta 

I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city. 
Whereupon lo ! upsprang the aboriginal name. 

Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, 

musical, self-sufficient, 
I see that the word of my city is that word from of old. 
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, 5 

Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and steamships, an 

island sixteen miles long, solid-founded. 



308 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, 
light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies, 

Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, 

The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, 
the heights, the villas, 
10 The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the 
ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model'd. 

The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business, the houses 
of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the river- 
streets, 

Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week. 

The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the 
brown-faced sailors, 

The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds 
aloft, 
15 The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river, 
passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide,"^ 

The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd, beautiful-faced, 
looking you straight in the eyes, 

Trottoirs throng'd, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and 
shows, 

A million people — manners free and superb — open voices — hos- 
pitality — the most courageous and friendly young men, 

City of hurried and sparkling waters ! city of spires and masts ! 
20 City nested in bays ! my city ! 



Captain 1 My Captain! 

O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done, 
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, 
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring ; 
5 But O heart! heart! heart! 

O the bleeding drops of red. 

Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
Fallen cold and dead. 



WALT WHITMAN 309 

O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells ; 

Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, lo 

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores 

a-crowding, 
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning ; 
Here Captain ! dear father ! 
This arm beneath your head ! 

It is some dream that on the deck, 15 

You've fallen cold and dead. 



My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still. 
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, 
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done. 
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won ; 20 

Exult O shores, and ring O bells ! 
But I with mournful tread. 

Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
Fallen cold and dead. 



When Lilacs last in the Dooryard Bloom'd 

1 

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd. 

And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night, 

I mourn 'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. 

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring. 

Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, 5 

And thought of him I love. 



O powerful western fallen star ! 

O shades of night — O moody, tearful night ! 

O great star disappear'd — O the black murk that hides the star ! 

O cruel hands that hold me powerless — O helpless soul of me ! lO 

O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul. 



310 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

3 

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd 

palings, 
Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of 

rich green, 
With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume 

strong I love, 
15 With every leaf a miracle — and from this bush in the dooryard, 
With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich 

green, 
A sprig with its flower I break. 



In the swamp in secluded recesses, 

A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. 

20 Solitary the thrush. 

The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements, 
Sings by himself a song. 

Song of the bleeding throat, 

Death's outlet song of life (for well dear brother I know, 
25 If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.) 



Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities. 

Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep'd 

from the ground, spotting the gray debris. 
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the 

endless grass, 
Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in 

the dark-brown fields uprisen, 
30 Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards, 
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave. 
Night and day journeys a coffin. 



WALT WHITMAN 311 



Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, 

Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land, 
With the pomp of the inloop'd flags with the cities draped in blacky 35 
With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil'd women 

standing. 
With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night, 
With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the 

unbared heads. 
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces. 
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising 

strong and solemn, 40 

With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour'd around the 

coffin. 
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs — where amid 

these you journey. 
With the tolling tolling bells' perpetual clang, 
Here, coffin that slowly passes, 
I give you my sprig of lilac. • 45 



Sing on there in the swamp, 

singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, 

1 hear, I come presently, I understand you. 

But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me. 

The star my departing comrade holds and detains me. 50 

10 

O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved? 
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has 

gone? 
And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love ? 

Sea-w^inds blown from east and west. 

Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till 
there on the prairies meeting, 55 



312 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

These and with these and the breath of my chant, 
I'll perfume the grave of him I love. 



13 

Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird. 

Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the 
bushes, 
60 Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines. 
Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song. 
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe. 

O liquid and free and tender ! 

O wild and loose to my soul — O wondrous singer ! 
65 You only I hear — yet the star holds me (but will soon depart). 
Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me. 

14 



From deep secluded recesses. 

From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still, 

Came the carol of the bird. 

70 And the charm of the carol rapt me. 

As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night, 
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird. 

Come lovely and soothing deaths 

Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, 
75 In the day, in the night, to all, to each, 
Sooner or later delicate death. 

Prais'd be the fathomless universe. 

For life and Joy, and for objects and knowledge curious, 
And for love, sioeet love — but praise ! praise ! praise ! 
80 For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. 



WALT WHITMAN 313 

Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, 

Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest ivelcome? 

Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, 

I bring thee a song that tohen thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. 

Approach strong deliveress, 85 

When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead, 
Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee. 
Laved in the flood of thy bliss death. 

From me to thee glad serenades, 

Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for 

thee, 90 

And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting. 
And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. 

The night in silence under many a star. 

The ocean shore and the husky whispering ivave tvhose voice I know. 
And the soul turning to thee vast and well-veiVd death, 95 

And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. 

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song. 

Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the 

prairies wide. 
Over the dense-packed cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, 
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee death. 100 



15 

To the tally of my soul, 

Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, 

With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night. 

Loud in the pines and cedars dim, 

Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume, 105 

And I with my comrades there in the night. 



314 AMERICAN LITERATURE 



16 

Passing the visions, passing the night, 

Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands, 

Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my 

soul. 
Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-altering 
1 10 song, 

As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding 

the night, 
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again 

bursting with joy. 
Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven. 
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses, 
115 Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves, 

I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with 

spring. 



I cease from my song for thee. 

From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing 

with thee, 
O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night. 

120 Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night, 
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, 
And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul. 
With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of 

woe, 
With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the 

bird, 
Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, 
125 for the dead I loved so well, 

For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands — and this 

for his dear sake. 
Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul. 
There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 315 

Come, said my Soul " 

COME, SAID MY SOUL, 

SUCH VERSES FOR MY BODY LET US WRITE, (POR WE ARE ONE), 
THAT SHOULD I AFTER DEATH INVISIBLY RETURN, 
OR, LONG, LONG HENCE, IN OTHER SPHERES, 

THERE TO SOME GROUP OF MATES THE CHANTS RESUMING, 5 

(TALLYING EARTH's SOIL, TREES, WINDS, TUMULTUOUS WAVES,) 
EVER WITH PLEAS'd SMILE I MAY KEEP ON, 

EVER AND EVER YET THE VERSES OWNING — AS, FIRST, I HERE 
AND NOW, 

sighing for soul and body, set to them my name, 

Walt Whitman. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
The Height of the Ridiculous 

I wrote some lines once on a time 

In wondrous merry mood. 
And thought, as usual, men would say 

They were exceeding good. 

They were so queer, so very queer, ' 5 

I laughed as I would die ; 
Albeit, in the general way, 

A sober man am I. 

I called my servant, and he came ; 

How kind it was of him 10 

To mind a slender man like me, 

He of the mighty limb ! 

' These to the printer,' I exclaimed, 

And, in my humorous way, 
I added (as a trifling jest), ^^ 

'■ There'll be the devil to pay.* 



316 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

He took tlie paper, and I watched, 

And saw him peep within ; 
At the first line he read, his face 
20 Was all upon the grin. 

He read the next; the grin grew broad, 
And shot from ear to ear ; 

He read the third ; a chuckling noise 
I now began to hear. 

25 The fourth ; he broke into a roar ; 

The fifth ; his waistband split ; 
The sixth ; he burst five buttons off. 
And tumbled in a fit. 

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 
30 I watched that wretched man, 

And since, I never dare to write 
As funny as I can. 

The Last Leaf 

I saw him once before. 
As he passed by the door, 

And again 
The pavement stones resound, 
5 As he totters o'er the ground 

With his cane. 

They say that in his prime. 
Ere the pruning-knife of Time 
Cut him down, 
10 Not a better man w^as found 

By the Crier on his round 
Through the town. 

But now he walks the streets. 
And he looks at all he meets 
15 Sad and wan. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 317 

And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 
' They are gone.' 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has prest 20 

In their bloom, 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 25 

Poor old lady, she is dead 

Long ago — 
That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow; 30 

But now his nose is thin. 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff, 
And a crook is in his back, 
And a melancholy crack 3^ 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here ; 
But the old three-cornered hat, 40 

And the breeches, and all that. 

Are so queer ! 

And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, 45 

Let them smile, as I do now. 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 



318 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

The Chambered Nautilus 

This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, 

Sails the unshadowed main, — 

The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wand its purpled wings 
5 In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, 

And coral reefs lie bare. 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. 

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 

Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 
10 And every chambered cell. 

Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell. 
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell. 

Before thee lies revealed, — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 

15 Year after year beheld the silent toil 
That spread his lustrous coil ; 
Still, as the spiral grew, 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new. 
Stole with soft step its shining archway through, 
20 Built up its idle door. 

Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. 

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee. 

Child of the wandering sea. 

Cast from her lap, forlorn ! 
25 From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 

Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 

While on mine ear it rings, • 

Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings : 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 
30 As the swift seasons roll ! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last. 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. 
Till thou at length art free, 
35 Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 319 

The Deacon's Masterpiece, or, The Wonderful ' One-hoss Shay ' 

A Logical Story 

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, 

That was built in such a logical way 

It ran a hundred years to a day, 

And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, 

I'll tell you what happened without delay, 5 

Scaring the parson into fits. 

Frightening people out of their wits, — 

Have you ever heard of that, I say ? 

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. 

Georgius Secundus was then alive, — ^q 

Snuffy old drone from the German hive. 

That was the year when Lisbon-town 

Saw the earth open and gulp her down. 

And Braddock's army was done so brown, 

Left without a scalp to its crown. j^ 

It was on the terrible Earthquake-day 

That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. 

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what. 

There is always somewhere a weakest spot, — 

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, 20 

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill. 

In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still. 

Find it somewhere you must and will, — 

Above or below, or within or without, — 

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, 25 

That a chaise breaks dotan, but doesn't wear out. 

But the Deacon swore (as deacons do, 

With an ' I dew vum,' or an ' I tell yeou') 

He would build one shay to beat the taown 

*N' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; 30 

It should be so built that it could n' break daown 



320 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

' Fur,' said the Deacon, ' 't's miglity plain 
Thut the weakes' place mus* stan' the strain ; 
'N' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, 
35 Is only jest 

T' make that place uz strong uz the rest.' 

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk 
Where he could find the strongest oak, 
That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, — 

40 That was for spokes and floor and sills ; 

He sent for lancewood to make the thills ; 
The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees, 
The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, 
But lasts like iron for things like these; 

45 The hubs of logs from the ' Settler's ellum,' — 

Last of its timber, — they couldn't sell 'em, 
Never an axe had seen their chips. 
And the wedges flew from between their lips. 
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; 

50 Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, 

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 
Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; 
Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; 
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide 

55 Found in the pit when the tanner died. 

That was the way he 'put her through.' 
' There ! ' said the Deacon, ' naow she'll dew ! ' 

Do ! I tell you, I rather guess 
She w^as a wonder, and nothing less! 
60 Colts grew horses, beards turned gray. 

Deacon and deaconess dropped away, 
Children and grandchildren —where were they? 
But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay 
As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day ! 

65 Eighteen hundred ; — it came and found 

The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 321 

Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; — 

" Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then. 

Eighteen hundred and twenty came; — 

Running as usual; much the same. 70 

Thirty and forty at last arrive, 

And then come fifty, and fifty-five. 

Little of all we value here 

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 

Without both feeling and looking queer. 75 

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, 

So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 

(This is a moral that runs at large ; 

Take it. — You're welcome. — No extra charge.) 

First of November, — the earthquake-day, — 80 

There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, 

A general flavor of mild decay. 

But nothing local, as one may say. 

There couldn't be, — for the Deacon's art 

Had made it so like in every part 85 

That there wasn't a chance for one to start. 

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, 

And the floor was just as strong as the sills. 

And the panels just as strong as the floor. 

And the whipple-tree neither less nor more, 90 

And the back crossbar as strong as the fore. 

And spring and axle and hub encore. 

And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt 

In another hour it will be worn out ! 

First of November, 'Fifty-five ! 95 

This morning the parson takes a drive. 

Now, small boys, get out of the way ! 

Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, 

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 

* Huddup ! ' said the parson. — Off went they. 100 



322 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

The parson was working his Sunday's text, — 
Had got to Jiflhly, and stopped perplexed 
At what the — Moses — was coming next. 
All at once the horse stood still, 

105 Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. 

First a shiver, and then a thrill, 
Then something decidedly like a spill, — 
And the parson was sitting upon a rock. 
At half past nine by the meet'n'-house clock, - 

110 Just the hour of the Earthquake shock ! 

What do you think the parson found. 
When he got up and stared around? 
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, 
As if it had been to the mill and ground ! 

115 You see, of course, if you're not a dunce. 

How it went to pieces all at once, — 
All at once, and nothing first, — 
Just as bubbles do when they burst. 

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay, 
120 Logic is logic. That's all I say. 



Parson Turell's Legacy, or, the President's Old Arm-Chair 

A Mathematical Story 

Facts respecting an old arm-chair. 
At Cambridge. Is kept in the College there. 
Seems but little the worse for wear. 
That's remarkable when I say 
5 It w^as old in President Holyoke's day. 

(One of his boys, perhaps you know, 
Died, at one hundred, years ago.) 
He took lodgings for rain or shine 
Under green bed-clothes in '69. 

10 Know old Cambridge ? Hope you do. — 

Born there ? Don't say so ! I was, too. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 323 

(Born in a house with a gambrel-roof , — 

Standing still, if you must have proof. — 

< Gambrel ? — Gambrel ? ' — Let me beg 

You'll look at a horse's hinder leg, — 15 

First great angle above the hoof, — 

That's the gambrel : hence gambrel-roof.) 

Nicest place that ever was seen, — 

Colleges red and Common green. 

Sidewalks brownish with trees between. 20 

Sweetest spot beneath the skies 

When the canker-worms don't rise, — 

When the dust, that sometimes flies 

Into your mouth and ears and eyes, 

In a quiet slumber lies, 25 

Not in the shape of unbaked pies 

Such as barefoot children prize. 

A kind of harbor it seems to be, 

Facing the flow of a boundless sea. 

Rows of gray old Tutors stand 30 

Ranged like rocks above the sand; 

Rolling beneath them, soft and green, 

Breaks the tide of bright sixteen, — 

One wave, two waves, three waves, four, — 

Sliding up the sparkling floor : 35 

Then it ebbs to flow no more, 

Wandering off from shore to shore 

With its freight of golden ore ! 

Pleasant place for boys to play ; — 

Better keep your girls away ; 40 

Hearts get rolled as pebbles do 

Which countless fingering waves pursue, 

And every classic beach is strown 

With heart-shaped pebbles of blood-red stone. 

But this is neither here nor there; 45 

I'm talking about an old arm-chair. 



324 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

You've heard, no doubt, of Parson Turell ? 
Over at Medford he used to dwell ; 
Married one of the Mathers' folk ; 

50 Got with his wife a chair of oak, — 

Funny old chair with seat like wedge, 
Sharp behind and broad front edge, — 
One of the oddest of human things, 
Turned all over with knobs and rings, — 

55 But heavy, and wide, and deep, and grand,— 

Fit for the worthies of the land, — 
Chief Justice Sewall a cause to try in. 
Or Cotton Mather to sit — and lie — in. 
Parson Turell bequeathed the same 

60 To a certain student, — Smith by name ; 

These were the terms, as we are told : 
' Saide Smith saide Chaire to have and holde ; 
When he doth graduate, then to passe 
To y« oldest Youth in y Senior Classe. 

65 On payment of ' — (naming a certain sum) — 

'By him to whom y^ Chaire shall come; 
He to y« oldest Senior next. 
And soe forever ' (thus runs the text), — 
' But one Crown lesse than he gave to claime, 

70 That being his Debte for use of same.' 



Smith transferred it to one of the Browns, 

And took his money, — five silver crowns. 

Brown delivered it up to Moore, 

Who paid, it is plain, not five, but four. 
75 Moore made over the chair to Lee, 

Who gave him crowns of silver three. 

Lee conveyed it unto Drew, 

And now the payment, of course, was two. 

Drew gave up the chair to Dunn, — 
80 All he got, as you see, was one. 

Dunn released the chair to Hall, 

And got by the bargain no crown at all. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 325 

And now it passed to a second Brown, 

Who took it and likewise claimed a croivn. 

When Brown conveyed it unto Ware, 85 

Having had one crown, to make it fair. 

He paid him two crowns to take the chair ; 

And Ware, being honest (as all Wares be), 

He paid one Potter, who took it, three. 

Four got Robinson ; five got Dix ; 90 

Johnson jormus demanded six; 

And so the sum kept gathering still 

Till after the battle of Bunker's Hill. 

When paper money became so cheap. 

Folks wouldn't count it, but said ' a heap,' 95 

A certain Richards, — the books declare 

(A. M. in '90? I've looked with care 

Through the Triennial, — name not there), — 

This person, Richards, was offered then 

Eightscore pounds, but would have ten ; 100 

Nine, I think, was the sum he took, — 

Not quite certain, — but see the book. 

By and by the wars were still, 

But nothing had altered the Parson's will. 

The old arm-chair was solid yet, 105 

But saddled with such a monstrous debt ! 

Things grew quite too bad to bear. 

Paying such sums to get rid of the chair ! 

But dead men's fingers hold awful tight, 

And there was the will in black and white, 110 

Plain enough for a child to spell. 

What should be done no man could tell, 

For the chair was a kind of nightmare curse. 

And every season but made it worse. 

As a last resort, to clear the doubt, 115 

They got old Governor Hancock out. 

The Governor came with his Lighthorse Troop 

And his mounted truckmen, all cock-a-hoop ; 



326 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Halberds glittered and colors flew, 
120 French horns whinnied and trumpets blew, 

The yellow fifes whistled between their teeth, 
And the bumble-bee bass-drums boomed beneath; 
So he rode with all his band, 
Till the President met him, cap in hand. 
125 The Governor ' hefted ' the crowns, and said, — 

' A will is a will, and the Parson's dead.' 
The Governor hefted the crowns. Said he, — 
' There is your p'int. And here's my fee. 
These are the terms you must fulfil, — 
130 On such conditions I break the will ! ' 

The Governor mentioned what these should be. 
(Just wait a minute and then you'll see.) 
The President prayed. Then all was still. 
And the Governor rose and broke the will ! 



135 ' About those conditions?' Well, now you go 

And do as I tell you, and then you'll know. 
Once a year, on Commencement day, 
If you'll only take the pains to stay. 
You'll see the President in the. Chair, 

140 Likewise the Governor sitting there. , 

The President rises ; both old and young 
May hear his speech in a foreign tongue. 
The meaning whereof, as lawyers swear. 
Is this : Can I keep this old arm-chair ? 

145 And then his Excellency bows, 

As much as to say that he allows. 
The Vice-Gub. next is called by name; 
He bows like t'other, which means the same. 
And all the officers round 'em bow 

150 As much as to say that they allow. 

And a lot of parchments about the chair 
Are handed to witnesses then and there, 
And then the lawyers hold it clear 
That the chair is safe for another year. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 327 

God bless you, Gentlemen ! Learn to give 155 

Money to colleges while you live. 

Don't be silly and think you'll try 

To bother the colleges when you die, 

With codicil this, and codicil that. 

That Knowledge may starve while Law grows fat ; 160 

For there never was pitcher that wouldn't spill. 

And there's always a flaw in a donkey's will ! 



All Here 

It is not what we say or sing, 

That keeps our charm so long unbroken, 
Though every lightest leaf we bring 

May touch the heart as friendship's token ; 
Not what we sing or what we say g 

Can make us dearer to each other ; 
We love the singer and his lay, 

But love as well the silent brother. 

Yet bring whate'er your garden grows. 

Thrice welcome to our smiles and praises ; 10 

Thanks for the myrtle and the rose. 

Thanks for the marigolds and daisies; 
One flower ere long we all shall claim, 

Alas ! unloved of Amaryllis — 
Nature's last blossom — need I name 15 

The wreath of threescore 's silver lilies? 

How many, brothers, meet to-night 

Around our boyhood's covered embers ? 
Go read the treasured names aright 

The old triennal list remembers ; 20 

Though twenty wear the starry sign 

That tells a life has broke its tether, 
The fifty-eight of 'twenty -nine — 

God bless The Boys ! — are all together ! 



328 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

25 These come with joyous look and word, 

With friendly grasp and cheerful greeting, — 
Those smile unseen, and move unheard, 

The angel guests of every meeting ; 
They cast no shadow in the flame 
30 That flushes from the gilded lustre, 

But count us — we are still the same ; 
One earthly band, one heavenly cluster ! 

Love dies not when he bows his head 
To pass beyond the narrow portals, — 
35 The light these glowing moments shed 

Wakes from their sleep our lost immortals ; 
They come as in their joyous prime. 

Before their morning days were numbered, — 
Death stays the envious hand of Time, — 
40 The eyes have not grown dim that slumbered ! 

The paths that loving souls have trod 

Arch o'er the dust where worldlings grovel 
High as the zenith o'er the sod, — 

The cross above the sexton's shovel ! 
45 We rise beyond the realms of day ; 

They seem to stoop from spheres of glory 
With us one happy hour to stray. 

While youth comes back in song and story. 

Ah ! ours is friendship true as steel 
50 That war has tried in edge and temper ; 

It writes upon its sacred seal 

The priest's uhique — omnes — semper ! 
It lends the sky a fairer sun 

That cheers our lives with rays as steady 
55 As if our footsteps had begun 

To print the golden streets already ! 

The tangling years have clinched its knot 
Too fast for mortal strength to sunder ; 
The lightning bolts of noon are shot; 
60 No fear of evening's idle thunder ! 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 329 

Too late ! too late ! — no graceless hand 

Shall stretch its cords in vain endeavor 
To rive the close encircling band 

That made and keeps us one forever! 

So when upon the fated scroll 65 

The falling stars have all descended, 
And, blotted from the breathing roll, 

Our little page of life is ended, 
We ask but one memorial line 

Traced on thy tablet, Gracious Mother : 70 

* My children. Boys of '29. 

In pace. How they loved each other ! ' 



The Broomstick Train ; or, The Return of the Witches 

Look out ! Look out, boys ! Clear the track ! 

The witches are here ! They've all come back ! 

They hanged them high, — No use ! No use ! 

What cares a witch for a hangman's noose? 

They buried them deep, but they wouldn't lie still, 5 

For cats and witches are hard to kill ; 

They swore they shouldn't and wouldn't die, — 

Books said they did, but they lie ! they lie ! 

A couple of hundred years, or so, 

They had knocked about in the world below,' 10 

Wh^n an Essex Deacon dropped in to call, 

And a homesick feeling seized them all ; 

For he came from a place they knew full well, 

And many a tale he had to tell. 

They longed to visit the haunts of men, 15 

To see the old dwellings they knew again, 

And ride on their broomsticks all around 

Their wide domain of unhallowed ground. 

In Essex county there's many a roof 

Well known to him of the cloven hoof; 20 



330 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

The small square windows are full in view 
Which the midnight hags went sailing through, 
On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high, 
Seen like shadows against the sky ; 
25 Crossing the track of owls and bats, 

Hugging before them their coal-black cats. 

Well did they know, those gray old wives, 
The sights we see in our daily drives : 
Shimmer of lake and shine of sea, 

30 Browne's bare hill with its lonely tree, 

(It wasn't then as we see it now, 
With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow ;) 
Dusky nooks in the Essex woods. 
Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes, 

35 Where the tree-toad watches the sinuous snake 

Glide through his forests of fern and brake ; 
Ipswich River ; its old stone bridge ; 
Far off Andover's Indian Ridge, 
And many a scene where history tells 

40 Some shadow of bygone terror dwells, — 

Of ' Norman's Woe ' with its tale of dread. 
Of the Screeching W^oman of Marblehead, 
(The fearfnl story that turns men pale : 
Don't bid me tell it, — my speech would fail.) 

45 Who w^ould not, will not, if he can. 

Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann, — 
Rest in the bowers her bays enfold. 
Loved by the sachems and squaws of old? 
Home where the white magnolias bloom, 

50 Sweet with the bayberry\s chaste perfume, 

Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea ! 
Where is the Eden like to thee? 
For that ' couple of hundred years, or so,' 
There had been no peace in the world below ; 

55 The witches still grumbling, 'It isn't fair ; 

Come, give us a taste of the upper air ! 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 331 

We've had enough of your sulphur springs, 

And the evil odor that round them clings ; 

We long for a drink that is cool and nice, — 

Great buckets of water with Wenham ice; 60 

We've served you well up-stairs, you know; 

You're a good old — fellow — come, let us go ! ' 

I don't feel sure of his being good. 

But he happened to be in a pleasant mood, — 

As fiends with their skins full sometimes are 65 

(He'd been drinking with ' roughs' at a Boston bar). 

So what does he do but up and shout 

To a graybeard turnkey, ' Let 'em out ! ' 

To mind his orders was all he knew ; 

The gates swung open, and out they flew. 70 

' Where are our broomsticks ? ' the beldams cried. 

' Here are your broomsticks,' an imp replied. 

' They've been in — the place you know — so long 

They smell of brimstone uncommon strong; 

But they've gained by being left alone, — 75 

Just look, and you'll see how tall they've grown.' 

* And where is my cat?' a vixen squalled. 

' Yes, where are our cats ? ' the witches bawled, 

And began to call them all by name : 

As fast as they called the cats, they came : 80 

There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim, 

And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim, 

And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau, 

And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe, 

And many another that came at call, — 85 

It would take too long to count them all. 

All black, — one could hardly tell which was which, 

But every cat knew his own old witch ; 

And she knew hers as hers knew her, — 

Ah, didn't they curl their tails and purr ! 90 

No sooner the withered hags were free 

Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree ; 



332 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

I couldn't tell all they did in rhymes, 
But the Essex people had dreadful times. 
95 The Swampscott fishermen still relate 

How a strange sea-monster stole their bait; 
How their nets were tangled in loops and knots, 
And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots. 
Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops, 

100 And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops. 

A blight played havoc with Beverly beans, — 
It was all the work of those hateful queans ! 
A dreadful panic began at ' Pride's,' 
Where the witches stopped in their midnight rides, 

105 And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms 

'Mid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms. 

Now when the Boss of the Beldams found 

That without his leave they were ramping round. 

He called, — they could hear him twenty miles, 

110 From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles; 

The deafest old granny knew his tone 
Without the trick of the telephone. 
' Come here, you witches ! Come here ! ' says he, — 
' At your games of old, without asking me ! 

115 I'll give you a little job to do 

That will keep you stirring, you godless crew ! * 

They came, of course, at their master's call. 
The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all ; 
He led the hags to a railway train 

120 The horses were trying to drag in vain. 

' Now, then,' says he, ' you've had your fun, 
And here are the cars you've got to run. 
The driver may just unhitch his team, 
We don't want horses, we don't want steam ; 

125 You may keep your old black cats to hug. 

But the loaded train you've got to lug.' 

Since then on many a car you'll see 
A broomstick plain as plain can be ; 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 333 

On every stick there's a witch astride, — 

The string you see to her leg is tied. 130 

She will do a mischief if she can, 

But the string is held by a careful man, 

And whenever the evil-minded witch 

AVould cut some caper, he gives a twitch. 

As for the hag, you can't see her, 135 

But hark ! you can hear her black cat's purr, 

And now and then, as a car goes by, 

You may catch a gleam from her wicked eye. • 

Often you've looked on a rushing train. 

But just what moved it was not so plain. 140 

It couldn't be those wires above, 

For they could neither pull nor shove ; 

Where was the motor that made it go 

You couldn't guess, hut now you know. 

Remember my rhymes when you ride again 145 

On the rattling rail by the broomstick train ! 



The Episode of the Pie 
{From The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table) 

— I will thank you for that pie, — said the provoking 
young fellow whom I have named repeatedly. He looked 
at it for a moment, and put his hands to his eyes as if 
moved. — I was thinking, — he said, indistinctly — 

— How ? What is't ? — said our landlady. 5 

— I was thinking — said he — who was king of England 
when this old pie was baked, — and it made me feel bad to 
think how long he must have been dead. 

[Our landlady is a decent body, poor, and a widow, of 
course ; celci va saris dire. She told me her story once ; it 10 
was as if a grain of corn that had been ground and bolted 
had tried to individualize itself by a special narrative. 



334 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

There was the wooing and the wedding, — the start in life, 
— the disappointment, — the children she had buried, — 

15 the struggle against fate, — the dismantling of life, first of 
its small luxuries, and then of its comforts, — the broken 
spirits, — the altered character of the one on whom she had 
leaned, — ^and at last the death that came and drew the 
black curtain between her and all her earthly hopes. 

20 I never laughed at my landlady after she had told me her 
story, but I often cried, — not those pattering tears that run 
off the eaves upon our neighbors' grounds, the stiWcidium of 
self-conscious sentiment, but those which steal noiselessly 
through their conduits until they reach the cisterns lying 

25 round about the heart ; those tears which we weep inwardly 
with unchanging features ; such I did shed for her often 
when the imps of the boarding-house Inferno tugged at her 
soul with their red-hot pincers.] 

Young man, — I said, — the pasty you speak lightly of is 

30 not old, but courtesy to those who labor to serve us, 
especially if they are of the weaker sex, is very old, and yet 
well worth retaining. The pasty looks to me as if it were 
tender, but I know that the hearts of women are so. May I 
recommend to you the following caution, as a guide, whenever 

35 you are dealing with a woman, or an artist, or a poet ; — if 
you are handling an editor or a politician, it is superfluous 
advice. I take it from the back of one of those little 
French toys which contain pasteboard figures moved by a 
small running stream of fine sand ; Benjamin Franklin will 

40 translate it for you : " Quoiqu^eUe soit tr^s soUdement 
montee, il faut ne pas brutaliser la machine." — I will 
thank you for the pie, if you please. 

(I took more of it than was good for me, — as much as 
85°, I should think, and had an indigestion in consequence. 

45 While I was suffering from it, I wrote some sadly despond- 
ing poems, and a theological essay which took a very 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 335 

melancholy view of creation. When I got better, I labeled 
them all '^ Pie-crust," and laid them by as scare-crows and 
solemn warnings. I have a number of books on my shelves 
that I should like to label with some such title; but, as 50 
they have great names on their title-pages, — Doctors of 
Divinity, some of them, — it wouldn't do.) 

My Last Walk with the Schoolmistress 
(Fro7n The. Autocrat) 

But all this has nothiiig to do with my walks and talks 
with the schoolmistress. I did not say that I would not 
tell you something about them. Let me alone, and I shall 
talk to you more than I ought to, probably. We never tell 
our secrets to people that pump for them. 5 

Books we talked about, and education. It was her duty 
to know something of these, and of course she did. Perhaps 
I was somewhat more learned than she, but I found that 
the difference between her reading and mine was like that 
of a man's and a woman's dusting a library. The man flaps lo 
about with a bunch of feathers; the woman goes to work 
softly with a cloth. She does not raise half the dust, nor 
fill her own eyes and mouth with it, — but she goes into all 
the corners, and attends to the leaves as much as the 
covers. — Books are the iiegative pictures of thought, and 15 
the more sensitive the mind that receives their images, the 
more nicely the finest lines are reproduced. A woman, (of 
the right kind,) reading after a man, follows him as Ruth 
followed the reapers of Boaz, and her gleanings are often 
the finest of the wheat. 20 

But it was in talking of Life that we came most nearly 
together. I thought I knew something about that, — that 
I could speak or write about it somewhat to the purpose. 

To take up this fluid earthly being of ours as a sponge 



336 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

25 sucks up water, — to be steeped and soaked in its realities 
as a hide fills its pores lying seven years in a tan-pit, — to 
have winnowed every wave of it as a mill-wheel works up a 
stream that runs through the Eume upon its float-boards, — 
to have curled up in the keenest spasms and flattened out in 

30 the laxest languors of this breathing-sickness which keeps 
certain parcels of matter uneasy for three or four score 
years, — to have fought all the devils and clasped all the 
angels of its delirium, — and then, just at the point when 
the white-hot passions have cooled down to cherry-red, 

35 plunge our experience into the .ice-cold stream of some 
human language or other, one might think would end in a 
rhapsody with something of spring and temper in it. All 
this I thought my power and province. 

The schoolmistress had tried life, too. Once in a while 

40 one meets with a single soul greater than all the living 
pageant that passes before it. As the pale astronomer sits 
in his study with sunken eyes and thin fingers, and weighs 
Uranus or Neptune as in a balance, so there are meek, slight 
women who have weighed all that this planetary life can 

45 offer, and hold it like a bauble in the palm of their slender 
hands. This was one of them. Fortune had left her, sor- 
row had baptized her ; the routine of labor and the loneli- 
ness of almost friendless city-life were before her. Yet, as 
I looked upon her tranquil face, gradually regaining a 

50 cheerfulness that was often sprightly, as she became inter- 
ested in the various matters we talked about and places we 
visited, I saw that eye and lip and every shifting lineament 
were made for love, — unconscious of their sweet office as 
yet, and meeting the cold aspect of Duty with the natural 

55 graces which were meant for the reward of nothing less 
than the Great Passion. 

— I never spoke one word of love to the schoolmistress 
in the course of these pleasant walks. It seemed to me that 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 337 

we talked of everything but love on that particular morning. 
There was, perhaps, a little more timidity and hesitancy on 60 
my part than I have commonly shown among the people at 
the boarding-house. In fact, I considered myself the master 
at the breakfast-table; but, somehow, I could not command 
myself just then so well as usual. The truth is, I had 
secured a passage to Liverpool in the steamer which was to 65 
leave at noon, — with the condition, however, of being re- 
leased in case circumstances occurred to detain me. The 
schoolmistress knew nothing about all this, of course, as 
yet. 

It was on the Common that we were walking. The mall, 70 
or boulevard of our Common, you know, has various branches 
leading from it in different directions. One of these runs 
downward from opposite Joy Street southward across the 
whole length of the Common to Boylston Street. We called 
it the long path, and were fond of it. 75 

I felt veiy weak indeed (though of a tolerably robust 
habit) as we came opposite the head of this path on that 
morning. I think I tried to speak twice without making 
myself distinctly audible. At last I got out the question, — 
Will you take the long path with me ? — Certainly, — said 80 
the schoolmistress, — with much pleasure. — Think, — I 
said, — before you answer ; if you take the long path with 
me now, I shall interpret it that we are to part no more ! — 
The schoolmistress stepped back with a sudden movement, 
as if an arrow had struck her. 85 

One of the long granite blocks used as seats was hard 
by, — the one you may still see close by the Gingko-tree. — 
Pray, sit down, I said. — No, no, — she answered, softly, — 
I will take the long path with you ! 

— The old gentleman who sits opposite met us walking, 90 
arm in arm, about the middle of the long path, and said, 
very charmingly, — " Good morning, my dears ! " 



NOTES 

It is assumed that some handbook is used with these readings. 
Hence, dates of composition and biographical details are not given 
unless they have some important bearing on the passages quoted. If 
no guide is in the hands of the student, some of the larger histories of 
American literature should be available for reference — such as Trent's 
(Appleton), Richardson's (Putnams), and Wendell's (Scribners). 
Words are not explained when satisfactory definitions may be found 
in such volumes as Webster's Secondary- School Dictionary (American 
Book Company) or the Concise Oxford. The first-named should be 
in the possession of every reader who can not procure the International., 
of which it is an abridgment. 

Smith. — The student should bear in mind that the language of 
Smith is in general the language of Shakspere's plays and of the 
King James (or " Authorized ") version of the Bible. A glance at a 
first edition of King Lear or Hamlet (or a facsimile reprint) will 
show the same inaccuracy and inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, 
capitalization, and as many obsolete words and idioms as are found in 
Smith. For spelling, note desart (line 3), bredth (4), seazed (15), and 
ceazed (39), Utterly reasonless punctuation and capitalization are 
easily observed. For words and forms of expression no longer in good 
use, note Ms (4), houglits (8; "windings"), in (21; "by"), them 
(28; " themselves"), admirer? (42; "wondered"). 

7. vituals. The student should look up the etymology of "vict- 
uals " in some good dictionary, 10, light., lighted. The guns were 
matchlocks. 11. j)eece, piece, firearm. 18. toiY/i, by ; frequent in 
Elizabethan English. Cf. The Tempest, II, ii, 112: "killed with a 
thunderstroke." 21. By that, by the time that. 25. Supply 
" fell " before .s/ior«. 29. shot, shooting. 30. discovered, dis- 

closed. 34. minding, paying attention to. 40. the King, i.e., 
Opechancanough. 42. as, that. 48. Supply after iwoods ; "that 
they were a party hunting deer." 51. The town is named in 112, 
Basawrack. Its location is not clear. 52. onely, only. 54. ad- 

339 



340 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

vei'tised, informed ; accented on the second syllable in the seventeenth 
century. See Shakspere's 3 Henry VI, V, iii, 18. 59. bishion. 
Probably a military term. 66. pound as plural, like " year," "mile," 
and some other nouns of measure, is no longer good English. 
70. points, cords to fasten hose and doublet. 72. wanted, lacked. 
77. mischance, i.e., the capture of Smith. 85. Paspahegh, the dis- 
trict in which Jamestown was located ; here used for the town itself. 
89. impossible, impossible. 92. IJieir intent, I incerted (for "in- 
serted"), of their intention I informed. 96. salvage, savage. 
106. Yonghtanan ; now the Pamunkey. 107. Mattapament ; now 
the Mattapony. 109. Peio/ial-aw, misprint for Powhatan. 110. Fals, 
on the James at what is now Richmond. 112. marsh, march. 

Strachey. — On Strachey's language see the general remarks on 
Smith above. 1. St. James his day, old form for " St. James's day." 
53. took down the braves, took away the courage. QQ. made up, 
came up. 72. bisket, old spelling of "biscuit." 88. spell, 

reUeve. 99. as, that. 104. whip-staff, ohsoleiQ for "tiller," the 
lever by which the rudder is turned. 105. ceased, seized. 
113. capstone, capstan. 116. all thoughts . . . else, then that, ^W. oth^Y 
thoughts except that. 120. remora, the sucking-fish, supposed to 

attach itself to vessels and check their course. 123. A watch on 
board ship is four hours, his, its, referring to "thing," the word " it " 
being superfluous. Beginning of sentence, then, means ; " One thing 
does not fail of being wonderful." 

Wiggles WORTH. — 1. Bar, judgment-seat (of Christ). 3. or . . . or, 
either ... or. 25. Nature was probably pronounced as an exact 
rhyme with Creator. 

Bradstreet. — 29-30. See Psalms, XIX, 5. 33. vegative (usually 
spelled " vegetive "), showing little mental activity ; i.e., animals of a 
low order. 66. Philomel, the nightingale. 

Bradford. — 2. pretty parts, accomplishments. 19. of, off. 

21. livetenante, lieutenant. The common pronunciation to-day in 
Great Britain is " lef tenant." 25. petiefogger, petty fogger ; an un- 
scrupulous, incompetent lawyer. Fume fells Inne, Furnival's Inn ; 
one of eight "Inns of Chancery," a sort of preparatory school for 
law students who afterward entered the " Inns of Court." 55. The 
floralia, or feasts of the goddess Flora, were celebrated with much 
license. 



NOTES 341 

WiNTHROP. — Winthrop was a contemporary of Bradford ; but the 
text in all modern editions of the former is, for some reason not ap- 
parent, modernized, while the only edition of Bradford's history, that 
made by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, is a faithful reprint of 
the original. 10. om?zes, etc., we ail grow worse by license. 41. let 
us break their bands, etc. See Psalms, II, 3. 

Mather. — 8. Patent, ofi&cial grant of territory. 14. presently, 
immediately. 29. almost as vernacular, almost as if it were his 
native speech. 37. Anabaptism taught (1) that the baptism of in- 
fants is not sanctioned by the Bible; (2) that the church is composed 
of those only who have been baptized upon a profession of faith ; and 
(3) that there should be an entire separation of church and state. 
55. mihi, etc.. May a similar end of life fall to me ! 58. No/xeus, 
etc. , the shepherd and rearer of the human flock. See Plato's States- 
man, 268, A. 

Edwards. — 14 ff. The number of omissions in this selection (indi- 
cated by asterisks) is due to the fact that both Edwards's style and his 
details are unimportant for the student's purposes. The ten "con- 
siderations" stated in barest form sufficiently characterize the man 
himself and the greater portion of his hearers. 

Franklin. — On Drunkenness. — The series of Dogood Papers 
appeared in Franklin's brother's paper, the Courant, with no indica- 
tion of authorship, and with no suspicion of the identity of the writer. 
1. Quod est, etc.: What the sober man thinks, the drunken man 
speaks. Franklin's free use of capitals and italics is reproduced here. 
6. huma7ie, humsin. 15. ^acc/iws, god of wine. 19. discover ; see 
note on Smith, 30. 24. Ponder is, of course, a fictitious personage. 
33. my own sex. Recall that this is supposed to be written by a woman. 
53. impertinence, matter having no connection with the subject in 
hand. 77. froze, for "frozen," as also chose (80) for "chosen." 
The preterit of strong verbs was formerly used freely for the past 
participle. 

Causes of the American Discontents, first published in The London 
Chronicle, Jan. 7, 1768, pretends to have been written by an English- 
man. In our readings it is abridged by the omission of two passages 
summarized in the note below. 66. In this paragraph Franklin 
turns aside from this statement of facts for a characteristic bit of irony. 
74. A passage omitted here recites in order the abuses from which the 



342 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

colonies had suffered — the Stamp Act ; the act for quartering soldiers 
in private houses ; the act taking away the legislative powers of the 
New York colonial assembly; the imposition of new customs duties, 
with a high-salaried Biitish board to collect them, and to use them in 
paying governors, judges, and other officials not appointed by the 
colonies. 124, emptying our gaols. It was customary to send British 
criminals to America, bound to service for a number of years, instead 
of holding them in prison. (Cf. the next selection, 44-50.) 135. ad 
libitum, at pleasure. 138. A passage omitted here sets forth that the 
colonists have agreed to refrain from the use of taxed articles; and 
that they assert vigorously their loyalty to the king, while refusing 
loyalty to a House of Commons in which they are not represented. 

An Edict by the King of Prussia was published in The Gentleman's 
3Iagazine (London), October, 1773. 29. these presents, this docu- 
ment. Legal term. 34. ad .i;aZorem, according to value. 54. stat- 
utes of, etc. Abbreviations signify the year of the reign of the mon- 
arch, and the chapter of the statutes of that year. E.g., the tenth and 
eleventh years of William III, chapter 10. 71. Rechtmaessig, Ger- 
man, equivalent to " Fair-and-just. " 72. Jeux d' Esprit, French, 
meaning " humorous trifles " (singular, jew.) 

Whistle. — 76. apples of King John. Apparently Franklin means 
apples of Saint John, so called because they reached maturity about 
Saint John's Day (May 6). " It is said they will keep for two years, 
and are best when shriveled." (Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and 
Fable. ) 

Henry. — The genuineness of this speech has been questioned, but 
to the present editor the evidence against it seems not worth repeat- 
ing. 39. election, choice. 

Otis. — The extract gives all the information necessary to under- 
stand the nature, issuance, and execution of the writs. 28. 14 
Charles II. See note on Edict by the King of Prussia, 54. 

Paine. — 64. Howe, British commander. 

Washington. — It is perhaps hardly necessary to remind the student 
that Washington was first inaugurated on April 30, 1789, in New York 
City. 6. retreat. Mount Vernon on the Potomac. 

Jefferson. — The Summary Vieio was offered by Jefferson as suit- 
able instructions for the Virginia delegates to the First Continental 



NOTES 343 

Congress. Begarded as extreme, they were rejected. Later in the 
year the document was printed at Williamsburg, Virginia, by friends 
of the author. 

Hamilton. — 74. Montesquieii, French writer of the eighteenth 
century on political science. His most important work, The Spirit of 
Laws^ influenced greatly the writings on the American Constitution. 

WooLMAN. — Woolman's Journal wa,s not written for publication, 
and was not published until after his death. The entire work is now 
accessible in several cheap editions, and makes an interesting study, 
especially when compared with Franklin's Autobiography. The ex- 
tract given is from Chapter TV. 1. This [ 2)r'0vince'], Maryland. 
15. Thou shalt not. Exodus, XXIII, 8. 16. As the disciples, etc. 
See Matthew, X, 10. 26. Society, the Religious Society of Friends ; 
also called Quakers. 36, esteemed before myself, thought better than 
myself. 38. the prophet, Moses. See Numbers, XI, 15. 47. My 
soul. Psalms, CXXXI, 2. 74. The 7th day of the fifth month. 
Friends still number the months and the days of the week instead 
of naming them, " Saturday, July fourth " would be expressed 
in "Friendly" style, "Seventh Day, Seventh Month, Fourth." 
80. Yearly Meeting. A single congregation of Friends is called a 
Monthly Meeting; the Monthly Meetings within a limited territory 
constitute a Quarterly Meeting ; a number of Quarterly Meetings unite 
in a Yearly Meeting. In the United States there are eleven Yearly 
Meetings of the "Orthodox" branch of Friends, and seven of the 
" Liberal " branch. In the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting of the latter 
nine Quarterly Meetings are included. 85. Port Boyal, a town on 
the Rappahannock in eastern Virginia. 

HoPKiNsoN. — The Battle of the Kegs, sung to the tune of " Yankee 
Doodle," was immensely popular during the Revolution. 

Anonymous Revolutionary Songs. — Paul Jones. — 1. Buccaneer, 
pirate. Jones is so called because of the irregular character of his 
commission — and indeed of the whole colonial navy. 12, Alfred, 
first ship commanded by Jones. Hopkins, Admiral Esek ; commander 
of the first fleet sent out by the colonies. 15-16. The first American 
flag was raised on the Alfred by Jones in 1776. On it was a pine tree, 
with a coiled rattlesnake at its feet, and the motto, " Don't tread on 
me." 21-22, On September 23, 1779, the British ship Serapis sur- 
rendered to the Bonhomme (Good-Man) Bichard, in command of 



344 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Jones, off Flamborough Head, east coast of England. Fo.r ah interest- 
ing imaginative presentation of John Paul Jones, read Cooper's TJie 
Pilot. 

Biflemen''s Song. — At Bennington, Vermont, August 15-16, 1777, 
the British and Hessians were utterly routed by the Americans under 
Colonel John Stark. We are told that when the enemy came in sight, 
Stark said: "There are the red-coats. We must beat them to-day 
or Molly Stark's a widow." 

(A large number of interesting Revolutionary poems and songs may 
be found in Poems of American History., edited by B. E. Stevenson ; 
published by Houghton Mifiaiu Co.) 

Trumbull. — 3IcFingal. — The student should see a summary or 
outline of the entire poem in some history. Canto III, 1, ^^oZe, the 
' ' Liberty Pole." Mc Fingal called it a " May-pole of sedition. ' ' Canto 
IV, 4. beneath their nose. " This, during the American war, was a 
fashionable phrase with the British. No officer, who had a lucky 
escape, failed of stating in his report, that he made a grand retreat 
under the very nose of the enemy." (Trumbull's note.) 5. the 
windoio, of the cellar where the Tories were meeting. 12. Lot. 
See Genesis., XIX, 12-26. 13. North, British Prime Minister. 
15. phantom of Independence. "On the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, the ministerial speakers in Parliament amused themselves by 
calling it, the phantom of independence. The wit was echoed by their 
newspapers." (Trumbull's note.) 

Barlow. — Vision of Columbus. — In this poem (in nine books) 
Columbus is represented as seeing from a hill the future greatness of 
America. 11-12. In 1753-1754 Washington gained distinction in a 
campaign against the French at the headwaters of the Ohio, the 
beginning of the French and Indian War. 16-17. Forty-four lines 
omitted here give a catalogue of Washington's lieutenants. 
31. Charlestown, then a suburb of Boston; now a part of the 
city. 32. C/iampZain, the lake in northeastern New York. 

Godfrey. — Prince of Parthia. — The scene given shows one of the 
leading motives of the play — the love of the brothers. Princes Arsaces 
and Vardanes, for Evanthe, a beautiful captive. Arsaces, the 
heroine's choice, has by Vardanes's schemes been imprisoned ; and 
the latter threatens that, unless she look upon his suit with favor, her 
beloved will be put to death. 



NOTES 345 

Freneau. — Apolitical Litany (also called Emancipation from 
British Dependence). — Written in 1775. One of the earliest expres- 
sions in print of the sentiment for absolute independence of the 
colonies. Title : the form of the poem imitates the Litany of the 
Episcopal church. 1. Libera, etc. The Litany contains eight peti- 
tions beginning "From," and concluding with the response of the 
congregation, " Good Lord, Deliver Us." 7. St. James'' s., the 
English Court ; here meaning the government. • 13. Wallace^ Sir 
James, and Graves, Baron Thomas, British admirals. Two Britisb 
warships were named Viper and Bose ; Wallace commanded the 
Bose in 1771-1776. 15. Dunmore., last royal governor of the colony 
of Virginia, 1772-1776. 17. Montague, Sir George, British naval 
officer. 23. Tryon, William, last royal governor of New York. 
27. North. See note on 3IcFingal, IV, 13. 28. King Log, about 
equal to " King Worthless." See note, page 355, for the story from 
which the expression comes. 

Eutaw Springs. — " To the Memory of the Brave Americans under 
General Greene, in South Carolina, who Fell in the Action of 
Septembers, 1781, at Eutaw Springs " (full title). Line 20 of this 
poem Scott thought good enough to appropriate with the change of 
a single word. In the Introduction to Canto III of Marmion, Scott 
has : 

" They snatched the spear — but left the shield." 

Irving. — Character of Peter Stuyvesant. — 2. Wouter Van Twiller 
was the first of the Dutch governors. In 59 the English equivalent of 
his name is given — Walter the Doubter. 9. spinsters, female spin- 
ners. Of the three fates, Clotho spins the thread of life, Lachesis 
twists it, Atropos cuts it. 13. Ajax Telamon was " the bulwark of 
the Greeks," of "immeasurable strength," and his buckler was "like 
a rampart." See the Iliad, Bryant's translation. Book VII, lines 
211-411. 16. Atlas was one of the Titans, who, after the defeat of 
his party by Jupiter, was compelled to bear the heavens on his shoul- 
ders. Hercules agreed to bear Atlas's load while the latter did him a 
favor. 17. Coriolanus, a Roman military leader of the fifth century 
B.C. Plutarch wrote parallel lives of great Greeks and Romans, from 
which Shakspere got the materials for his Greek and Roman plays. 
Note 1. Josselyn and Blome were Englishmen who visited America 
in the late seventeenth century and wrote some very absurd things 
about the country. 35. choleric Achilles. The real subject of the 



346 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Iliad is the " wrath of Achilles." His rages and frequent refusals to 
fight are responsible for most of the Greeks' troubles. 39. Peter the 
Greats Czar of Russia, beginning of eighteenth century. 41. Plato, 
Aristotle, Greek philosophers ; Hobbes, Bacon, English philosophers ; 
Sydney (or Sidney), English statesman and political scientist ; Paine, 
see above, pages 40-42. 50. Wilhelmus Kieft, or William the Testy 
(60), governor after Wouter Van T wilier. QG. wanted, lacked. 

Tom Walker. — 160. persecutions. During the seventeenth century 
these sects were severely persecuted in Massachusetts. Roger 
Williams led a number of Baptists to Rhode Island, where they not 
only "worshipped God according to their own belief," but allowed all 
men to do so. A tract entitled The Wrotigs of the Quakers (1660), 
by Edward Burrough, an English Quaker (printed in Hart's American 
History Toldby Contemporaries, Vol. I, pp. 404-6) ; and Hawthorne's 
imaginative presentation of the same in The Gentle Boy (in Twice 
Told Tales), will give the student a most interesting bit of "parallel 
reading." 332. r/uno, slang for "money." 348. Eldorado, \d,Yi6. 
of gold or immense wealth. 373. ^change, the stock exchange. 

Bryant. — Thanatopsis. — The title is from two Greek words mean- 
ing " a view of death." 12. the narrow house, the grave. 17. Yet 
a few days. The poem as first published began with these words. 
28. the rude swain, etc. Of. Hamlet, V, i, 83 ff. 51. Barcan 
wilderness, in northern Africa. 66. bed with thee. Poem as first 
published ended here. 

Waterfowl. — This poem is a meditation on an actual flight of a 
bird observed by the poet. 10. marge, poetic word for " margin." 

Forest Hymn. — 3. architrave, in classical architecture, that part 
of a building which rests directly on the capitals of the pillars. 
5. vault, in Gothic architecture, the arch which itself forms the 
roof or supports a separate roof . 11. s^iVZ?/, poetic word. 26-28. See 
Genesis, I, 11-12. 45. instinct (accented on second syllable), filled. 

Death of the Flowers. — 25 ff. These lines refer to the poet's 
beloved sister, who had died the year before. 

Fringed Gentian. — Qi. Wordsworth's four poems on the daisy and 
three on the celandine. 

Gladness of Natiire.— One of the few nature-poems of Bryant 
which have no moral. Not seldom it seems very loosely joined to 
the poem, as in To the Fringed Gentian and To a Waterfowl; but 
for Bryant the moral was always just as real and just as impor- 



NOTES 347 

tant as the rest of his meditation — the description of the natural 
object. 

Cooper. — Ariel and Alacritij. — The scene of most of TJie Pilot 
is the northeastern coast of England ; the time, December, 1778. 
1. English cutter, the Alacrity. 7. Barnstable, commander of 
the American schooner Ariel. 12. The cockswain, "Long Tom" 
Coffin, is one of the notable characters of English fiction, worthy to 
rank with Cooper's two other creations — Leather-Stocking and 
Harvey Birch. 9. in the wind^s eye, against the wind. 40. bolt- 
ropes, ropes stitched to the edge of sails. 66. his namesake, the 
cannon, called "Long Tom." 75. long bowls, a game somewhat 
like tenpins. 79. dub, trim. Trimming a gamecock for a fight is 
called "dubbing." 114, curmudgeon is hardly a suitable name 
for the boy ; but Tom's anger is not very accurate in expressing 
itself. Besides, he probably did not know the meaning of the word, 
but attached it to his vocabulary as a good "mouth-filling" term of 
abuse. 181. soldiers. A party of British troopers were watching 
the contest from the cliff. 260. Merry, the boy who earlier had so 
stirred Tom's anger. 

Halleck. — Marco Bozzaris. — 13. Suliote, native of Suli in 
Epirus, where Bozzaris was born. 16. Persian ; probably Xerxes 
is meant, though the Persian commander defeated at Platcea was 
Mardonius. When this battle was fought, Xerxes had returned to 
Persia, after his own defeat in the sea fight of Salamis. 38. Moslem, 
Mohammedan. 75. Indian isles, the West Indies. 76. Genoese, 
Columbus. 

Calhoun. — 18. twenty-four sovereign powers. The debate be- 
tween Calhoun and Webster took place in 1833. 61-62. Calhoun's 
last prediction has come true ; for we have chairs of political science 
everywhere, and not a few " schools of diplomacy." 

Webster. — If time serves, the study of Calhoun and Webster here 
might well be preceded by at least a rapid reading of the debate three 
years earlier between Robert Y. Hayne and Webster. 43. gloss, 
marginal note. 72. Mirabeau, French statesman of the Revolution. 
He and Napoleon are commonly regarded as the greatest figures 
who appeared in that momentous period. 107 ff. The student 
would do well to follow Webster's argument with a good American 
history — or better, with two histories, one written from Webster's 



348 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

point of view, the other from Calhoun's. Even H. C. Lodge, how- 
ever, Webster's biographer and certainly in sympathy with his sub- 
ject, says that the Massachusetts statesman's argument was histori- 
cally unsound. 

Lincoln. — Showing His Hand. — New Salem was in Sangamon 
County, Illinois. Lincoln at the time of this letter was serving his 
first term in the legislature. Hugh L. White was the candidate of 
the Whig party. 

Speech Leaving Springfield. — If we had nothing of Lincoln's but 
this, there would be slight ground for questioning his religion, as 
has frequently been done. 

Oettyshurg Address. — This speech was delivered at the dedication 
of the national cemetery at Gettysburg a few months after the great 
battle. 

TiMROD. — A Cry to Arms. — The second of Timrod's remarkable 
series of poems growing out of incidents of the war. The first was 
Ethnogenesis. 6, hyre^ cowhouse, cot., cottage, i.e., home. 

Flower-Life. — 41. Sibyl-leaves, valuable fragmentary writings 
easily scattered or lost. 

Hayne. — Beauregard's Appeal. — Early in 1862 General Beaure- 
gard appealed to the people of the Mississippi valley to give up planta- 
tion-bells to be moulded into cannon. Not only was this request 
granted : churches gave up their bells, and women offered brass 
candlesticks and andirons. 

Forgotten. — 29. Supply " that " before " Its." 

Axe and Pine. — This poem and Poets are excellent examples of 
the sonnet, a form in which few poets have been strikingly success- 
ful. Longfellow is the greatest American sonnet-writer. For a satis- 
factory brief treatment of the sonnet, see Corson, Primer of English 
Verse., Chapter X. 

Poets will repay careful study of substance as well as of form. 

PoE. — To Helen. — Of this poem Lowell said : " There is a little 
dimness in the filling up, but the grace and symmetry of the outline 
are such as few poets ever attain. . . . The melody of the whole, 
too, is remarkable. It is not of that kind which can be demonstrated 
arithmetically upon the tips of the fingers. It is of that finer sort 
which the inner ear alone can estimate. It seems simple, like a 
Greek column, because of its perfection." 2. Mcean, Foe prob- 



NOTES 349 

ably used this word with no definite place in mind, merely suggesting 
something distant. So the loanderer of line 4, though some have 
thought it an allusion to Ulysses, is perhaps not meant to indicate 
any man in particular. 7. hyacinth here means simply " beau- 
tiful." It was a favorite epithet with the poet. 8. The Naiads 
were nymphs who presided over fountains, lakes, brooks, and wells. 
9-10. These lines originally read : 

" To the beauty of fair Greece, 
And the grandeur of old Rome." 

It would be a good exercise to find out how the revision is an im- 
provement. 14. Psyche^ the soul. Cf. Ulalume, line 12. 

Israfel. — 5. giddy., whirling rapidly. 12. levin., lightning. 

23. skies is the object of trod. 45-51. The thought of this stanza 

— the influence of environment on what one accomplishes — is ex- 
pressed elsewhere by Poe. 

Haunted Palace. — Poe explained that the haunted palace sym- 
bolizes " a mind haunted by phantoms." In a letter he asserted 
that Longfellow's Beleaguered City (page 204) was taken from this 
poem, claiming that even the versification was copied. The student 
might well compare the two to see how far Poe's charge was justified. 
9-10. These lines show Poe's careful choice of words for their sound 
value. Note also The Baven., 13, 71, Ulalume., 5, 18-19, Annabel 
Lee, 34. He was fond of words containing long vowels and sus- 
tainable consonants. 22. Porphyrogene, born to the purple. 

Baven. — See first note on Short- Story below. 10. Poe used the 
name Lenore in several other places. Others that he used, to some 
extent at least for their sound value, are "Eleonora," "Berenice," 
" Morella." 41. Pallas, or Minerva, goddess of wisdom ; a suitable 
bust for a student's room, said Poe. 89. Balm in Gilead. See 
Jeremiah, VIII, 22. 93. Aidenn,di. variant of "Eden"; here it 
means any delightful place. 101. Here it becomes apparent, says 
Poe, that the raven is "emblematical of Mournful and Never-ending 
Bememhrance.'''' 

Annabel Lee is supposed to have been inspired by the memory of 
the poet's child-wife. 

Ulalume. — N. P. Willis, friend and admirer of Poe, said that 
this poem is " full of beauty and oddity in sentiment and versifica- 
tion, but a curiosity (and a delicious one, we think) in philologic 
flavor." Professor Pattee thinks its meaning is perfectly clear — it 



350 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

is an allegory — "the epitome of Poe's last years" ; " the marvelous 
repetition , . . shows that the poet's mind was in a state almost of 
collapse." See the Chautauquan, Vol. 31, pp. 182-186 (May, 1900). 
Pattee expounds the "allegory" in great detail, but is not altogether 
convincing. 

Morella. -=- 8. Eros, love. 20. Preshurg, ancient capital of Hun- 
gary, and one of its finest cities. 45. Hinnon b'e.came the Gehenna. 
Before being defiled by Josiah (see 2 Kings, XXIII, 10) the valley 
of Hinnon south of Jerusalem formed part of the royal gardens. 
53. Pantheism, etc. It would be quite useless for the student to 
attempt to understand even the names here. They are given merely 
as specimens of abstruse philosophies. 58. Locke, John ; chief 
work. Essay on the Human Understanding . 118. Pcestum, ancient 
Greek city of Lucania (southern part of Italy). 119, play the 
Teian xoith time seems to mean "enjoy a care-free sort of existence." 
The Teian is probably put for Anacreon, the Greek lyric poet, who 
was born at Teos in Ionia. He wrote many poems in praise of love 
and wine, and was a favorite at the courts of several rulers. 175. A 
lustrum (plural, lustra ) is five years. 

8hort-Story. — The theory of poetry set forth in the first para- 
graph here Poe repeated in many places. One of the most interesting 
for the young student is The Philosophy of Composition, which 
purports to tell how The Baven was composed. (The essay may be 
had in several cheap editions.) 28. De Beranger, a French poet 
prominent in Poe's day. 34. In medio, etc. ; A happy medium is 
safest. 79. tales of ratiocination, tales in which acute reasoning is 
used ; sometimes spoken of as analytical tales. The best examples 
are Poe's own — The Gold-Bug, The Purloined Letter, Murders in the 
Bue Morgue. Sir Conan Doyle's stories of Sherlock Holmes are later 
examples of the same kind. The models for these, by the way, Doyle 
unhesitatingly asserted were Poe's tales just mentioned. 91. par 
parenthese, parenthetically. 

Hawthorne. — May-Pole. — See the reading from Bradford, page 
15. 70. Oomus, god of mirth. See Milton's masque. 98. Clerk 
of Oxford, minister educated at Oxford University. 195. St. 
John's Day is Dec. 27. 300. Endicott, colonial governor of Massa- 
chusetts, severe in his treatment of " heretics." He figures also in 
another of the Twice Told Tales — Endicott and the Bed Cross. 
303. Blackstone, the clerk of line 98. 328. Ancient, standard bearer. 



NOTES 351 

Droimie^s Wooden Image. — 10. Fayal^ one of the Azores islands 
(pronounced Fi-al'). 30. Neptune^ god of the sea. 38. When the 
story has been completed, it would be interesting to discuss what 
was Hunnewell's "secret"; also the "mystery in the carver's 
conduct" (110). 53. Parian., from Paros, one of the Cyclades, a 
group of islands in the ^gean Sea. Carrara., a- city of Tuscany, 
Italy. 68. Galen (second century a.d.), and Hippocrates (fifth 
century b.c), famous Greek physicians. The latter was called the 
"father of medicine." 129. hamadryad, in classical mythology, a 
nymph whose life is bound up with that of her tree. 151. What 
a wide distinction, etc. This thought is expressed in several other 
places by Hawthorne — e.^.,in The Marhle Faun, Chapter XIII, and 
in the Italian Note-Book, under Feb. 14, 1858. 205. Pygmalion, a 
mythological sculptor who made a statue of Galatea, with which he 
fell in love, and which, in response to his prayer, Venus endowed with 
life. 425. witch times. The famous witch-trials took place in Salem 
in 1692-1693. 448. statuaj^y, sculptor. 471. Province House, home 
of the colonial governors of Massachusetts. See Hawthorne's descrip- 
tion of it at the beginning of Howe''s Masquerade, in Twice Told Tales. 

Motley. — William, Prince of Orange and Count of Nassau, called 
"the Silent" (1533-1584), was the founder of the Dutch Republic. 
The tour described took place in August, 1577. 2. little provinces, 
i.e., the fifteen states which with Holland and Zealand had united in 
the Pacification of Ghent to drive out the Spaniards. The Pacification 
had been signed in November preceding William's tour. 5. Father 
William. Since the union of the provinces was due more to William's 
efforts than to any one else's, he was very appropriately called the 
father of his country. 16. states-general, the "Congress" of the 
provinces. Don John [of Austria], youngest son of Charles V of 
Spain, and half-brother of Philip II. His mother was a peasant of 
low birth. Philip appointed him governor of the Netherlands in 1576. 
36. seizure of Namur Castle, by Don John, As the commandant came 
out to welcome the governor, he was arrested, and the entire garrison, 
composed of old men, turned out. 38. John Taffin, an eminent minis- 
ter of the Reformed Church ; Philip Marnix, Baron Saint Aldegonde. 
Both were devoted adherents of William. 64. treaty of Marche en 
Famine, also called the " Perpetual Edict," an agreement between Don 
John and the little provinces — Holland and Zealand, under William's 
influence, refusing to sign. In less than a year the states-general de- 



352 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

clared that Don John (who had wisely fled) was no longer an officer 
of the country, and was really its enemy. 73. Escovedo, Juan, 
a Spaniard, close friend of Don John. 118. The convention of 
*^ Satisfaction,''^ which granted William's demands for religious tolera- 
tion, was signed about two months after his visit. 126. episcopal 
city, seat of a bishop. The bishopric of Utrecht dates from the eighth 
century. 144. ancient church, the Roman Catholic. 

Emerson. — Bhodora. — 11-12. The lines answer the question 
heading the poem. 

Concord- Hymn. — The battle of Lexington and Concord took place 
April 19, 1775. 

Humble- Bee. — 16. Epicurean, one who believes that pleasure is 
the chief aim of life. 

Terminus. — When he wrote this poem (1867), he realized that 
"his working days were nearly done," says his son. Dr. E. W. 
Emerson. 28. Baresark, or "berserk," a Scandinavian warrior 
who fought without armor. 

Nature of Government. — The cutting from Lowell's essay (page 
252) should be given at least a rapid reading before reading this of 
Emerson's. 17-18. These two short sentences are typical of Emer- 
son. They furnish food for much thought, yet it is doubtful whether 
we ever get from them his full meaning. 56. The essay on Politics 
was published in 1844, but contained portions of a lecture given in 
1836. The student should find out what was the political situation 
in the United States in those years. 85. Botany Bay, in Australia. 
The name is commonly used as the equivalent of " penal colony" ; 
but such a colony was never located there. The British planned to 
establish it at Botany Bay, but found a more desirable site near the 
present city of Sydney. 95. Fisher Ames, American orator and 
statesman (1758-1808). 106. fact oj two poles, etc. This idea is 
repeatedly expressed by Emerson, and is fully developed in the essay 
Compensation. 

Thoreau. — Coming of the Birds. — 60. Anacreon, Greek lyric 
poet, fifth century b.c. 

Longfellow. — Beleaguered City. — 4. Prague, capital of Bohe- 
mia, Austria ; it is situated on the 3Ioldau River. See note on 
Haunted Palace, above. 

Building of Ship. — 37. / wis, here used (as generally) as an old- 



NOTES 353 

fashioned expression for "I know." It really is from Anglo-Saxon 
gewis, an adverb meaning " certainly." 61. Pascagoula, in Missis- 
sippi. 62. Bocmoke, river in Virginia and North Carolina. 
161. Lascar, an East Indian sailor. 178. stemson, keelson, sternson 
knee, timbers of a ship. 382-7. The student will recall that the 
"Master" and several of the chief "Workmen" are represented 
in the second group of our readings (pages 24-49). 

Hiawatha. — 12. Dacotahs. Hiawatha was an Ojibway (line 
166), 14. Nokomis, Hiawatha's grandmother, who reared him. 
86. chalcedony. Accented here on the first and third syllables. 

Birds. — This poem is founded on a tradition connected with the 
town of Killingworth, Connecticut. 2. merle, blackbird, mavis, 
thrush. 11-12. See Matthew, X, 29, 31 ; Luke, XII, 6-7. 17. Sound, 
Long Island. Killingworth is about 10 miles from the Sound. 
30. Cassandra-like, etc. Cassandra, daughter of Priam, king of 
Troy, prophesied evil to her city. 43. Squire, Justice of the Peace. 
51. See the reading from Edwards, page 21, above. 89. Plato, 
Greek philosopher, fourth century b.c, in a work called the Republic, 
set forth his ideal of government. Beviewers. Longfellow doubtless 
refers to the magazines of the early nineteenth century — Edinburgh 
Beview, Quarterly, and others — which severely criticized Wordsworth 
and others of the so-called "Romantic" school, sometimes denying 
them any claim to the title of poet. 93. Troubadours, lyric poets 
of Italy, Spain, and especially Southern France, twelfth and thirteenth 
centuries, who sang chiefly of love. 96. See 1 Samuel, XVI, 14-23. 
184. St. Bartholomew. On St. Bartholomew's Day (Aug. 24), 1572, 
there was a terrible massacre of Protestants and Huguenots in Paris. 
193. See Acts, XII, 20-23. 212. Doom's-Day Book, properly 
"Domesday" (day of judgment), a valuation-survey of England 
made by William the Conqueror. It made taxation on a sound basis 
possible, besides being a census roll and a record of estate valuations. 
The nickname came from the fact that in the eyes of the people it 
was like the great reckoning of doomsday. 

Hanging of Crane. — " This is the story of life," said Longfellow, 
"the sweet and pathetic poem of the fireside." 72. Canute was 
king of England from 1017 to 1035. He was a small man ; and the 
early part of his reign was characterized by great barbarity and 
severity. Which of these facts has Longfellow in mind in giving the 
baby this name ? 108. Ariadne's Crown. After Ariadne was de- 
serted by Theseus, she was wooed and won by Bacchus, who gave her 



354 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

a golden crown. After her death, Bacchus made a heavenly constella- 
tion of the crown. 148. Cathay, China. 

Cross of Snow. — A sonnet commemorating the death by fire of 
the poet's wife. With characteristic reserve and self-control, Long- 
fellow made no record of the great sorrow except this short lyric 
eighteen years after the event, and then did not print it. 

Lowell. — My Love. — This poem was composed about the time 
the poet became engaged to Maria White. 

Freedom. — Written in 1843. Few men of Lowell's position and 
ability were then outspoken in opposition to slavery. 

Commemoration Ode. — This poem was dedicated " To the ever 
sweet and shining memory of the ninety-three sons of Harvard 
College who have died for their country in the war of nationality." 
23. Veritas., truth. In 1643 the seal of Harvard was adopted — a 
shield with three open books bearing the word Veritas. 49. her (as 
elsewhere in this section) refers to "truth" (line 28). 66-70. 
See 1 Kings, XVIII, 17-46. 95. Lincoln was assassinated three 
months before the Ode was written. The form read at the com- 
memoration exercises did not contain section VI ; but, as has often 
been remarked, it follows V so naturally and effectively that it does 
not seem like an afterthought. 129 ff. "Or if there was anything 
of Europe in him, it was Europe in its early days (fronting morn- 
ward), w^hen there were no hereditary distinctions of rank." 
134. Plutarch's men. See note on Irving's Stuyvesant, line 17. 
152. The first American. Cf. Grady, page 275. 167. dear ones. 
Three nephews of Lowell and five other relatives fell in the war. 
174. See Numbers, XIII, 1-2, 21-24. 181. Line means: "We 
shall never be without their glorified presence." 230. Katahdin, 
Monadnock, Whiteface, mountains ; in Maine, New Hampshire, 
and Colorado, respectively. 

Old Elm. — 3-5. Washington expressed himself as thinking he 
was almost miraculously spared at Braddock's defeat in the French 
and Indian War. 6. gown to arms had yielded. Several of the 
Harvard buildings were used for military purposes. 25-26. "ready 
to vote down the religious doctrine of Freewill, but inclined to be 
very free in the exercise of their own will." 42. buff and blue, 
the colors of the Continental uniform. 44. "I seem to see the 
sun-flecks weave halos prophetic of glory round the head of Wash- 
ington, which have not grown less glorious with his passing, but 



NOTES 355 

continue our guiding light." 72. In section VIII, Lowell said, 
he "held out a hand of kindly reconciliation to Virginia." 
79. inevitable wrong^ the War between the States. 93. During 
the eleventh and twelfth centuries the Church enforced cessation 
of hostilities at certain periods. Such cessation was called the Truce 
of God. 

Emerson the Lecturer. — 5. King Logs. " The frogs prayed to 
Jove to send them a king, and the god threw a log into the pool, 
the splash of which terribly alarmed them for a time ; but they soon 
learnt to despise a monarch who allowed them to jump upon its 
back, and never resented their familiarities. The croakers com- 
plained to Jove for sending them so worthless a king." (Brewer's 
Beader''s Handbook.) 10. What they do not fully understand., 
etc. Most readers of Emerson take this attitude, just as his 
hearers did. 12. old poet., Matthew Koydon, friend of Sidney, 
Spenser, Marlowe, and other famous poets of the later sixteenth 
century. The lines quoted are from an Elegie written by Roydon 
on Sidney's death. 19. spread-eagle., noisily patriotic. 20. We 
are reckoned. This and the next sentence are somewhat in Emer- 
son's cryptic style. 24. Buncombe constituency., body of support- 
ers who wish tlieir representative to do a great deal of talking in a 
high-flown style, even if he seldom touches any subject of interest or 
importance. See "Buncombe" in the International Dictionary. 
25. Flotinus, Egyptian philosopher of the third century. 28. Vedas 
are the sacred books of India. 40. Brahma is the title of one of 
Emerson's most obscure poems. 44. Montaigne, French essayist. 
57. Epistoloi, etc.. Letters of Obscure Men. 64. Rev. Thomas 
Fuller and Sir Thomas Browne were great writers of the seventeenth 
century, but the average person would not admire them as Lowell 
does. 65. abominable word. This was written in 1868. The word 
is now, of course, firmly established in the language. It • was ob- 
jected to on the ground of irregularity of formation. 71. The 
many, etc. This sentence is worthy of the student's best thinking. 
It and the one following are quite Emersonian. 89. as old as I am. 
Lowell was forty-nine. 101. ^'^ plain living and high thinking,''' 
quoted from a sonnet of Wordsworth beginning, "O Friend! I 
know not which way I must look." 136. ere one can say it light- 
ens. See Bomeo and Juliet, II, ii, 120. 146. consulate for "presi- 
dency" is merely a mild witticism — the sort of thing that occasion- 
ally mars Lowell's best work. 153. remainder-biscuit. See As 



356 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

You Like It, II, vii, 39. 164. stocks, machine for punishing by- 
putting the arms or legs of an offender in a cramped position. 
165. And who that saiv. The remainder of this paragraph is 
characteristic of the author — four sentences of prose that is only- 
just short of poetry, followed by three familiar and humorous ones. 
He once said he was ' ' a kind of twins, divided between grave and 
gay." 181. vegete, lively. 185. fugleman, leader. The student 
has doubtless already discovered Lowell's fondness for uncommon 
words. It was not affectation, but the result of continued and loving 
study of older English writers. 186. Titian, Venetian painter. 
Assumption, reception of the Virgin Mary into heaven; a favorite 
subject with the old masters. 193. saved us, etc. See Bomans, 
VII, 24. 205. we should 7iot have been careful for an answer. 
See Daniel, III, 16. 215. Che in la mente, etc. From Dante's 
Inferno, Canto XV, lines 82-85 : 

" For in my mind is fixed, and touches now 
My heart the dear and good paternal image 
Of you, when in the wrorld from hour to hour 
You taught me how a man becomes eternal." 

(Longfellow's translation.) 

White'' s Selborne. — According to the Diet. Nat. Biog. this book, 
which so arouses Lowell's enthusiasm, is " the only work on natural 
history which has attained the rank of an English classic." Sel- 
borne is in Sussex county, about fifty miles southwest of London. 
8. Fellow of Oriel. In English universities a student may be a 
Fellow and receive a regular income from the institution for a much 
longer period than is possible in America. Oriel, one of the colleges 
of Oxford. 11. hobby-horse, now usually "hobby." A subject, 
theory, occupation, to which a person devotes a great deal of time 
and attention, without earning his living thereby. 13. Barrington, 
Pennant (Thos.). White's book is in the form of letters to these 
English naturalists and friends of his. 15. Izaak Walton, an 
English writer immortalized by a book in praise of the sport of fish- 
ing — The Complete Angler. 16. William Cowper (pronounced 
Cooper), English poet. The following lines from his The Task, 
Book' VI, indicate what Lowell had in mind : 

" I would not enter on my list of friends 
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense. 



NOTES 357 

Yet wanting sensibility) the man 

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm." 

26. his parishioners. White was minister as well as naturalist. 
31. Annihilating, etc. From The Garden, by Andrew Marvell, Eng- 
lish poet (seventeenth century). 35. See great Diocletian walk, etc. 
The editor is unable to place this passage. Lowell's reading covered 
an enormous range, many apparently not striking passages stuck in 
his memory, and he often failed to quote accurately. These facts make 
very difficult the identification of many of his quotations and allusions. 
The Roman emperor Diocletian after his abdication (305 a.d.) retired 
to Salona (modern Spalato) in Dalmatia, where he built a magnificent 
palace with extensive gardens. 39. revolt of the American colonies. 
White's book was in preparation from 1773 to 1789. 47. Char- 
treuse, a Carthusian (austere) monastery ; hence, a quiet retreat. 
54. fauna, animals inhabiting a region. 57. anthropophagous, man- 
eating. 60. our share of owls. What does he mean here by 
"owls"? 64. Francis Willoughhy and John Bay were English 
naturalists about a hundred years before White. 65. stilted plover. 
" In the last week of last month, five of those most rare birds, too 
uncommon to have obtained an English name, but known to natural- 
ists by the terms of himantopus, or loripes and charadrius himantopus 
were shot. . . . One of these spec^ens I procured. . . . These 
birds are of the plover family, and might, with propriety, be called 
the stilt-plovers." — Nat. Hist. Selh., Letter XCL 78. Windsor 
Castle, one of the English sovereign's residences, located about 
twenty miles from London. 79. Boyal Society, the most important 
scientific organization in Great Britain. 90. Diogenes, Greek cynic 
philosopher. 95. reconstruction. This essay was written in 1869, 
when the " reconstruction " of the states of the Southern Confederacy 
was taking place. 108. Martin, Benjamin, mathematician and 
instrument maker, who graduated the thermometer used at Selborne. 
118. abnegated, renounced. 131. graduation; Mercury. Lowell 
was as fond of puns as was Holmes. 139. Barahas, a character in 
Marlowe's Jeio of Venice. 140. "-Into what quarter,'''' etc. See 
tYiQ Jew, I, i, 39. 147. I have little doiibt, etc. " This was written 
before we had a Weather Bureau." (Lowell's note in the complete 
edition of his works.) The Weather Bureau was not organized until 
1891, but systematic work that led to its organization goes back to 
1870. 167 . cloaca maxima, the great sewer. 



358 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

Democracy. — 8. Picoadilly, one of the finest streets in London, 
where fashionable people promenade. 28. Hudson. The sum of 

£25,000 had been raised for a statue to the "railway king" while he 
was alive ; but discovery that his methods were highly dishonorable 
put an immediate stop to the movement. 29. Louis Napoleon, 
nephew of the great Napoleon. He became president of France in 
1848, and had himself proclaimed emperor in 1852. He imitated his 
uncle's methods, but succeeded only in gaining the title of " Napoleon 
the Little." 71. more famous tribune. See note on Webster, line 
72. 98. Robert Lowe, Viscount Shei'brooke, British statesman ; liv- 
ing when Lowell spoke these words. 110. '■'■where two men ride,'*'' 
etc. See Shakspere's Miich Ado About Nothing, III, v, 40. The 
"very sagacious person" is a foolish constable named Dogberry. 
115. Henry George, a great politician of New York City, advocate 
of the single tax. At the time of his death in 1898 he was a candi- 
date for mayor of the city, with what were thought to be excellent 
chances of election. 118. a fortiori, for a stronger reason. 

151. Be your own palace, etc. See John Donne's Letter to Sir Henry 
Wotton, line 52. Donne wrote '■'-thine own" and '■'•thy gaol." 
175. Our healing, etc. See 1 Kings, XIX, 9-18. 

Lanier. — 3Iy Springs. — 25. Note that perverse is here accented' 
on the first syllable. 52. Magdalen and Buth ; that is, for bad 
women and good women. See Luke, VII, 36-50 (especially 37, 39) ; 
and the book of Buth (especially III, 11). 

Chattahoochee. — Habersham and Hall are counties in the north- 
eastern part of Georgia. As the poem implies, the river rises in 
Hall County. 44. It will be interesting for the student to com- 
pare Lanier's way of bringing out his moral with Bryant's. 

[The editor- regrets that arrangements could not be made with 
Lanier's publishers to give the poet more adequate representation in 
these readings.] 

Grady. — The New South was delivered in December, 1886, at 
the annual banquet of the New England Society of New York City. 
He was thirty-six years old, the son of a Confederate soldier, and 
the most prominent journalist in the South. 5. B. H. Hill, a 
noted Georgia statesman. Tammany Hall, home of the " regular " 
branch of the Democratic party in New York. 54. Cavalier, settler 
of the Southern colonies ; Puritan, settler of New England. 
64. Myles Standish, the Puritan leader who enforced the severe laws 



NOTES 359 

of his party. Longfellow's The Courtship) of Miles Standish gives an 
interesting presentation of his character. 8-4. Talmage, T. DeWitt 
(died 1902), prominent preacher whose sermons were widely printed 
and read week by week. 90. the first typical American. Cf. Lowell's 
Commemoration Ode, section VI (page 245). 121. Appomattox 
Court House, Virginia, where Lee surrendered, April 9, 1865. 
132. cross, the Confederate flag. 158. Bill Arp, pen-name of 

Charles H. Smith, a Georgia newspaper man and humorist, whose 
letters during and after the war were very popular. The name 
" Arp " he made from the initial letters of the phrase, "A Rebel 
Private." 167. a kind of careless man about fire. Sherman burned 
Atlanta on his famous " march to the sea." 186. Mason and Dixon^s 
line, boundary between Maryland and Pennsylvania, named for the 
men who surveyed it. It was long referred to as the dividing line 
between the Northern free states and the Southern slaveholding 
states. 233. Toombs, Robert, noted Georgia soldier and statesman. 
237. chattel, any sort of property except real estate. 266. Johnston, 
Gen. Joseph E., one of the three or four greatest leaders of the Con- 
federates. 275. toad''s head. See Shakspere's As You Like It, II, 
i, 12-17. 331. city in lohich I live, Atlanta. 369. Those opened 
eyes, etc. See Shakspere's 1 Henry IV, I, i, 9-15. "opened " is an 
error for "opposed." 

Curtis. — Prue and / is a sort of novel dealing with an obscure 
New York bookkeeper and his wife. The extract is from the chapter 
called Sea and Shore. 5. Earlier in the chapter we learn that the 
supposed narrator " made the India Voyage " when a small boy, by ex- 
ploring a ship from India in some American port. 11. Uast India- 
man, ship engaged in the East Indian trade. 28. top, short for 
"topsail." 33. Parthenon, etc. Many marble ornaments of the 
Parthenon at Athens were removed in the years 1803-1812 by Lord 
Elgin, who afterwards sold them to the British government. They are 
now among the greatest treasures of the British Museum. Curtis's 
" unrifled " implies that Lord Elgin's conduct was not meritorious, 
but most people think otherwise. See Thomas Bruce, seventh Earl 
of Elgin, in Dictionary of National Biography. 37. Vittoria 
Colonna, an Italian poet (1490-1547), who refused many suitors 
both before marrying the man of her choice, and after his death, 
Tasso, famous Italian poet of the sixteenth century. 38. Villa d'Este, 
palace at Ferrara of Cardinal Luigi d'Este, Tasso's patron. Beatrice, 



360 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

the inspiration of the Italian poet Dante's whole life (1265-1321), 
and the central figure of his The New Life and of his Paradise, the 
last section of The Divine Comedy. 40. Hotel Europa, DanielVs, 
Leone Bianco, popular resorts in Venice of the mid-nineteenth 
century. 41. Marino Faliero, doge of Venice (14th century), 
who had a young and very beautiful wife. 44. Ah ! senza amare^ 
etc. : " Ah, there is no consolation to walk along the sea without 
love.'" 49. you and Aurelia. Aurelia was a city belle whom the 
narrator did not know but admired from a distance ; " you" was her 
escort. St. Peter''s, cathedral at Rome. 62. Boxhury is now a 
part of Boston. 76. A painted ship, etc. See Coleridge's Ancient 
Mariner, lines 117-118. 

JSvils of Party Spirit. — The address from which this selection is 
taken was delivered before the graduating class of Union College, 
Schenectady, New York, in 1877. It is one of the earliest and most 
notable pleas for independence in politics. The present strong ten- 
dency toward independence is probably due in no small measure to 
Curtis's continued preaching of the doctrine. 62. money-changers. 
See John, II, 13-16. 92. Federalists. See any good history of the 
United States for the party divisions during the early days of the 
nation. 93. Jacobins, the extreme republicans of the French Revolu-^ 
tion. Bohespierre and Marat were leaders of this party. 110. Castor 
and Pollux, twins. To understand the passage fully, look up either 
name in an encyclopedia or in a handbook of mythology. 123. whips. 
A whip is a person designated by his party to enforce discipline. The 
ofi&ce and name originated in the British House of Commons, but are 
now used also in the American House of Representatives. 125. one 
Senator, James W. Grimes, of Iowa. Though ill, he dragged himself 
to the trial, and two days after delivering his opinion in favor of Presi- 
dent Johnson's acquittal, was stricken with paralysis. 130. Liqidsi- 
tion, a court of the Roman Catholic Church, the business of which 
was to suppress heresy. It was finally abolished in 1834. 

WiiiTTiER. — To Garrison. — William Lloyd Garrison was one of 
the earliest and most vigorous opponents of slavery. He and Whittier 
were lifelong devoted friends. 3. Before the actual outbreak of 
hostilities Garrison was several times in danger of death at the hands 
of mobs who disapproved his conduct. 

Proem. — 3. Spenser, Edmund, English poet of the time of Shak- 
spere. Whittier has in mind Spenser's Amoretti, Prothalamion, and 



NOTES 361 

other lyric poems, rather than the better known Faerie Queene. 
4. Sir Philip Sidney^ contemporary and friend of Spenser, wrote a 
romance called Arcadia^ and many lyrics. 33. Marvell, see note 
on Lowell's Whitens Selhorne^ line 31. 

Ichabod. — The title-name of this poem means "the glory is de- 
parted." (See 1 Samuel^ IV, 21.) It was written after Webster's 
Seventh of March Speech (1850), which supported Clay's Compromise 
and the Fugitive Slave Law, and which most of the North considered an 
act of treachery. Webster, however, had been the champion, not 
of the anti-slavery forces, but of the Union ; and he believed to the 
end that war could be avoided if the opposing parties would only 
exercise enough patience. The Lost Occasion (p. 303) should be read 
along with Ichabod. 

Skipper Ireson. — Years after this poem was written Whittier was 
told that not Ireson but his crew committed the crime told of in 
stanzas four and five. He had based the verses on a bit of rhyme of a 
schoolmate. 3. Apuleius's Golden Ass was a young man who had 
been transformed into the animal but retained his human conscious- 
ness. 4. Calender's horse. The Tale of the Third Calender in 
the Arabian Nights tells of one Agib, who was entrusted with the 
keys of a palace and given permission to enter every room but one. 
He nevertheless entered that one, mounted a horse he found there, 
and was carried through the air to Bagdad. The horse set him 
down, and with a whisk of his tail knocked out Agib's right eye. 
6. Al-Borak, the animal brought by Gabriel to carry Mahomet to 
heaven, had the face and voice of a man, the cheeks of a horse, the 
wings of an eagle. 8. Marblehead, coast town of Massachusetts. 
6. Bacchus, god of wine. 30. Moenads, female attendants of 
Bacchus. 35. Chaleur Bay, an inlet of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 

Playmate. — A tender recollection of a boyhood love — Whittier 
never married. 1. Bamoth hill was near Amesbury, the poet's 
home from 1836 to 1876; as were the "woods of Follymill " 
(line 36). 59. The veer?/ is a kind of thrush. 

Laus Deo. — "On hearing the bells ring on the passage of the 
constitutional amendment abolishing slavery." (Whittier.) 

19. See note on Lowell's Democracy, line 175. 27 ff. See 
Exodus, XV, 21. 

Lost Occasion. — 3. Thou, Daniel Webster. See note on Icha- 
bod. This poem was written in 1880. 11. Olympian, godlike. 
15. Phidias, the greatest sculptor of Greece. 17. Ccedmon, 



362 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

English poet of about the seventh century. 23. Norse god, Odin. 
24. Talus, the groom of Sir Artegal in Spenser's Faerie Qiieene 
(book V, canto 1, stanza xii), carried an iron flail, 

" With which he threshed out falsehood, and did truth unfold." 
51. See Judges, XVI, 6-9. 74 ff. Mount Webster (3876 feet), 
in the White Mountains, about sixty miles from Webster's birthplace. 

Whitman. — Whitman is the most individual poet in our literature ; 
and his admirers assert that he must not be judged by the methods 
used in judging other poets. John Burroughs, the most noted 
American champion of the "sage of Camden," says: "We can 
make little of Whitman unless we allow him to be a law unto him- 
self, seek him through the clues which he himself brings. When we 
try him by current modes, current taste, ... we are disappointed." 
Sydney Dobell, English critic, says: "It is the American poet's first 
demand upon us that we shall dismiss our prepossessions in favor of 
the poets of culture from our minds — not asking whether he conforms 
to the rules which we apply to them, but whether he has a new mes- 
sage for the world, which demands a new and freer method for its fit 
expression. If we are not willing thus to reconsider our established 
ideas as to the art of poetry, we had better conclude that Whitman 
has no message for us, and concern ourselves no further about 
him." 

If these statements hold, it should be easier for young readers, 
who have fewer "prepossessions" and less fixed standards, to under- 
stand and appreciate Whitman than for those who have for many 
years been reading and loving the " poets of culture." 

A Child'' s Question. — 8. hieroglyphic, secret sign. 11. Kanuck, 
a Canadian ; Tuckahoe, a Virginian (see the Standard dictionary) ; 
Cliff, a miserly old fellow. All three are slang. 

Mannahatta. — 1. my city. New York. 2. the aboriginal name. 
The aboriginal Delawares of New York City were called " man- 
hatanis," meaning " those who dwell upon an island." {New Inter. 
Enc.) 7. ^i^^ grrow;«/is, etc., the " sky-scrapers." 16-18. Students 
who have visited New York might check up Whitman's description 
from their own observation. This is the sort of poem Robert Louis 
Stevenson has in mind when, in The Amateur Emigrant, he speaks 
of " all that bustle, courage, action, and constant kaleidoscopic change 
that Walt Whitman has seized and set forth in his vigorous, cheerful, 
and loquacious verses." 



NOTES 363 

Captain! — Lee had surrendered, the Union was preserved, but 
Lincoln had died by the assassin's hand. 

When Lilacs. — See Carpenter's Whitman {Eng. Men of Letters)^ 
page 105 : " . . . strange and beautiful hymn, in which Lincoln's 
name is not mentioned, nor is there more than a faint reference to 
him ; a threnody, therefore, of all that had died in the colossal 
struggle, symbolized through him. A poem of three themes, it sings 
of the lilac blossoms, sweet, and homely, and transient ; of the evening 
star, shining luminous for all men, but slowly sinking to its rest ; of 
the hermit thrush, Nature's one foreboding singer of the wilderness 
at twilight. The flower of the dooryard fades at the appointed time, 
the star disappears according to its season, the bird sings of death as 
the ' deliveress ' of mankind, for the poet's trust is as strong as his 
love, and he contemplates death with gratitude and with praise. 
Further analysis fails." 

Come, said my Soul. — This poem appeared first as a sort of 
preface to the 1876 edition of Leaves of Grass. In the edition of 
1881 it was placed on the title-page and signed by the author. 

Holmes. — The Height of the Eidiculous. — 16. Any one who 
doesn't appreciate the trifling jest may look up "printer's devil" in 
the dictionary. 

The Last Leaf. — Holmes did outlive most of his close friends ; he 
died in 1894, at the age of 85. 

The Chambered Nautilus. — This poem was "suggested by look- 
ing at a section of one of those chambered shells to which is given 
the name of Pearly Nautilus. . . . [Such a section] will show you the 
series of enlarging compartments successively dwelt in by the animal 
that inhabits the shell, which is built in a widening spiral. Can you 
find no lesson in this ? " — The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table., No. 
IV. The student should look up an illustration of the nautilus in 
dictionary or encyclopedia in order to get the full meaning of the poem 
on the natural side. Much use must be made of the dictionary — few 
poems will better repay detailed study. 

4. purpled wings. Many purple wings or arms are attached to 
the head of the nautilus. When alive, it can "fling" these out at 
will. 5. The Sirens were sea nymphs who by their beautiful sing- 
ing lured sailors to destruction on the rocky shores they inhabited. 

8. The webs of living gauze are the "purpled wings" of line 4. 

9. When the animal dies, the shell is tossed about by the sea, and 



364 AMERICAN LITERATURE 

thus "wrecked." 11-12. dim dreaming life . . .frail tenant. These 
expressions refer to the low order of life to which the nautilus be- 
longs. 14. irised, many-colored. 16. The coil was lustrous be- 
cause of the "irised ceiling." 22. heavenly message, given in the 
last stanza. 26. Triton, trumpeter of Neptune, god of the sea. His 
wreathed horn was a shell. 31. low-vaulted. The nautilus succes- 
sively dwelt in larger compartments of the spiral, which may be 
thought of as rooms of higher vault or ceiling. Hence, its previous 
mansions might be called "low-vaulted" by comparison. 32. Let 
each new temple, . . . Shut thee from heaven, i.e. : " Let each new 
temple, the dome (or roof) of which stands between thee and heaven 
(i.e., the sky), be vaster than its predecessor." Or, leaving the fig- 
ure of speech : " Keep growing, intellectually and spiritually." 

The Deacon's Masterpiece. — Shay is colloquial for "chaise," a 
light carriage. 11. George II was hardly a "drone." He was will- 
ing enough to work, but yielded the opportunity when he found a 
prime minister more capable than himself. German hive. The 
House of Hanover, which still rules England, is German in origin. 
20. felloe (also written "felly"), wooden rim of wheel, thill, shaft. 
22. thoroughhrace, leather strap used as spring, or to join C-springs. 
See line 53. 45. e^Zwm, provincial pronunciation of " elm." 92. en- 
core is restricted in English to a single use, where it means " again." 
Here it has, of course, one of its other French meanings, " besides." 

Parson TureWs Legacy. — 2. Legally Harvard is still only a 
"college." 5. Edward Holyoke was president of Harvard from 
1737 to 1769. 64. ?/« is the old abbreviation for " the," and should 
be so read, not as if written "ye." Similarly, y* was frequently 
written for the conjunction "that." In the quotation Holmes imi- 
tates the forms of the seventeenth century. 69. An English crown 
is five shillings (about $1.25). 98. Triennial. From 1776 to 1875 
Harvard published every three years a catalogue of ofiicers and gradu- 
ates. Since 1880 the catalogue has appeared every five years and 
been called the " Quinquennial." 118. cocA:-a-/iOop, exultant. There 
is an interesting discussion of this word in the New English (Oxford) 
Dictionary. 147. Vice-Gub, Lieutenant-Governor. 

All Here. — Written for the thirty-eighth anniversary of Holmes's 
class at Harvard — the famous class of 1829. 20. triennial; see 
note on line 98 of preceding poem. 21-22. In a list of names, de- 
ceased persons are usually indicated by stars. 24. The Boys, title 
of Holmes's poem for the class reunion of 1851. 52. ubique — om- 



NOTES 365 

nes — semper, everywhere — all — always. 70. Gracious Mother, Har- 
vard. The translation of "Alma Mater." 72. In pace, in peace. 

The Broomstick Train. — 11. Essex. Salem, the scene of the 
witchcraft trials of the seventeenth century, is in Essex County. 
So also are Ipswich Biver, Cape Ann, Swampscott, Danvers, Beverly, 
Wenham. Wilmington is just over the line in Middlesex. Chelsea 
is a suburb of Boston. 41. Norman'' s Woe, a dangerous reef near 
Gloucester, Massachusetts. See Longfellow's The Wreck of the 
Hesperus. 53. See line 9. 77 ff. Recall the witch-scenes in Mac- 
beth, and compare the lists of attendant spirits or "familiars." 
128 ff. The broomstick, it is hardly necessary to say, is the trolley ; 
the careful man, the conductor ; the black cafs purr, the whirr of 
the motor ; the gleam, the spark made when the trolley slips off the 
wire. In Over the Teacups, written the same year as this poem 
(1890), Holmes has a long passage on this subject, beginning : 
" Look here ! There are crowds of people whirled through our 
streets on these new-fashioned cars, with their witch-broomsticks 
overhead, — if they don't come from Salem, they ought to." The 
first trolley line had been started four years before in Richmond, 
Virginia. 

Episode of the Pie. — 10. cela va sans dire, that goes without say- 
ing. 22. stillicidium, the flowing of a liquid, drop by drop. 27. 
Inferno, Italian for "hell," and the title of the first part of Dante's 
great poem, The Divine Comedy. 39, Benjamin Franklin was 
"our landlady's youngest." 40. " Quoiqu'elle,'' etc.: Although it 
is strongly made, this toy must not be handled roughly. 

My Last Walk. — 18. See Buth, Chapter II. 40. single is used 
here, of course, in the sense of "one." 70. Common, a large and 
beautiful park in the heart of Boston. 87. Gingko, an Asiatic tree 
having fan-shaped leaves. Also spelled "ginkgo"; the initial g is 
sounded either hard or soft. 90. the old gentleman who sits oppo- 
site, i.e., opposite the Autocrat at the boarding-house table. He is 
never named ; but in the last chapter the Autocrat " took the 
schoolmistress before the altar from the hands of the old gentleman 
who used to sit opposite." (Italics are the editor's.) 



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